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of  the 

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LIBRARY 

LOS  ANGELES.  CALIF, 


^^^^    5T/iTE  HOBMAl  S":H]01. 


\tif!;'5lfts  «  ^1- 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD. 


BT 


THEODORE  T.  HUNGER. 


%i4.4-2 


'  Many  men  that  stumble  at  the  threshold." 


SIXTEENTH   EDITION'. 


J    i  J  >     J    )  ^  i^      J      1,*,    ,i 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,   IMIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY, 

New  York :    11   East   Seventeenth   Street. 

(Ste  IJiitiCT?iDe  ©res?,  <irambrilJ{je. 

1885. 


\ 


7922 


Copyright,  1880, 
By  TIIEODOUJE  T.  MUNGER. 

.1//  riyhts  reserved. 


....  V .  •.  , 

•     •         ••       •  •* 


•  •  • 
•  •  • 
»  »      •  I 


The  }\ivnsi(ie  Preyn^  Cambrit/f;e : 
titeruot)  pvU  nuU  rriuUd  by  II.  O.  Uougbtou  01:  Co. 


3 

\SlO 


PEEFAOE. 


The  object  of  this  little  book  ia  to  put 
into  clear  form  some  of  the  main  principles 
that  enter  into  life  as  it  is  now  opening  be- 
fore young  men  in  this  country.  Its  sug- 
gestions are  more  specific  and  direct  than  if 
they  had  been  addressed  to  older  persons ; 
still,  I  have  aimed  to  support  every  point 
by  sound  reasons,  and  to  join  the  authority 
and  inspiration  of  the  greater  minds  with 
my  own  views.  I  think  I  may  assure  my 
readers  that  they  will  not  encounter  a  sim- 
ple mass  of  advice,  nor  the  generalities  of 
an  essay,  but  rather  a  series  of  hints  suit- 
able to  the  times,  and  pointing  out  paths 
that  are  just  now  somewhat  obscured.  If 
they  find  some  pages  that  are  strenuous  in 
their  suggestions,  they  will  find  none  that 
are  keyed  to  impossible  standards  of  con- 


lY  PREFACE. 

duct,  or  filled  with  moralizings  that  are 
remote  from  the  every-day  business  of  life. 
It  is  not  pleasant  to  play  the  rdle  of 
Polonius,  and  I  undertake  it  only  because 
Laertes  seems  to  be  quite  as  much  in  need 
of  advice  as  ever.  I  have  not,  however, 
written  out  of  a  critical  mood,  so  much  as 
from  a  desire^o  bring  young  men  face  to 
face  with  the  inspiring  influences  that,  in  a 
peculiar  degree,  surround  them.  The  coun- 
try was  never  so  prosperous,  the  future 
never  so  full  of  happy  assurance  as  it  is  to- 
day. To  point  out  the  way  of  reaping  the 
double  harvest  of  this  prosperity  and  a 
noble  manhood,  is  the  motive  that  underlies 
these  pages. 


CONTENTS. 

PAfll 

I     PtmposE 1 

I    n.  Fkizxds  a>t)  Companions    ....  31 

m.  Man^-ers 51 

rv.  Thrift 75 

V.  Self-Reliance  and  Courage         .       .       .  99 

VI.  Health 123 

Vll.  Eeadinq 155 

Vlii.  Amusements 183 

IX.  Faith.               309 


PUEPOSE 


i  .vnig  nae  thought,  my  youthfu'  friend, 

A  somethiug  to  have  sent  you, 
Tho'  it  should  serve  nae  ither  end 

Than  just  a  kind  memento ; 
But  how  the  subject  theme  may  gang, 

Let  time  and  chance  determine ; 
Perhaps,  it  may  turn  out  a  sang, 

Perhaps,  turn  out  a  sermon." 

Burns. 

•'  Sow  an  act,  and  you  reap  a  habit;  sow  a  habit,  and  yon 
reap  a  character;  sow  a  cnaracler,  and  you  reap  a  destiny." 

—  A.VON. 

'•So  teach  us  to  number  our  days  that  we  may  apply  ouj 
hearts  unto  wisdom."  —  Psalm  xc. 


I. 

PURPOSE. 

In  euf-ering  upon  this  series  of  essays,  or 
talks  with  young  men,  I  wish  to  have  it  un- 
derstood at  the  outset  that  I  do  not  under- 
take to  cover  or  even  touch  the  whole  truth 
of  the  subject  in  hand.  The  philosophical 
basis  and  the  religious  application  will  not 
be  much  regarded ;  hence,  to  some  they 
may  seem  to  lack  profound  thought,  and  to 
others  moral  earnestness  ;  but  I  shall  not 
mind  if  I  can  lead  my  readers  to  think 
seriously  of  what  I  do  say.  If  I  speak  the 
truth,  it  will  have  enough  philosophy  in  it ; 
if  it  is  carefully  heeded,  it  will  of  itself 
grow  into  the  moral  and  religious. 

I  begin  with  Purpose^  because  it  natu- 
rally underlies  the  themes  that  are  to  fol- 
low, and  also  because  it  is  a  matter  of  special 
importance.  I  say  special  because  I  think 
that  just  now  many  young  men  are  entering 
life  witliout  any  very  definite  purpose ;  aa 


PURPOSE. 


Bome  one  has  put  it,  "  the  world  is  full  of 
purposeless  people."     It  is  due  in  part  to 
nearly  ten  years  of  bard  times,  when  occu- 
pations have  been  closed  up,  and  multitudes 
of  young  men  could  find  little  to  do.    Busi- 
ness men  have  struggled  along  as  best  they 
could,  capitalists  have  been  idle,  and  young 
men  have  been  shut  up  to  the  few  chance 
openings,  without  much  choice  based  on  fit- 
ness or  desire.     It  is  also  due  to  the  fact 
that,  during  the  previous  years,  large  and 
sudden  accumulations  of  property  were  made 
by  people  not  accustomed  to  its  use.     The 
consciousness  of  wealth  is  always  dangerous. 
When  a  young  man  comes  to  feel  that  be- 
cause his  father  has  wealth  he  has  no  need 
of  personal  exertion,  he  is  doomed.     Only 
the  rarest  natural  gifts  and  the  most  excep- 
tional training  can  save  the  sons  of  the  rich 
from  faihire  of  the  true  ends  of  life.    They 
may  escape  vice  and  attain  to  respectability, 
but  for  tlie  most  part  they  are  hurt  in  some 
degree   or   respect.      The   consciousness  of 
wealth  in  the  latter  part  of  life,  after  one 
has  earned  or  become  prepared  for  it,  may 
be   not   only  not  injurious,  but   healthful, 
'Jiough  one  ought  to  be  able  to  live  a  high 
and  happy  life  without  it.     But  anything 


PURPOSE.  5 

that  lessens  in  a  young  man  the  feeling  that 
he  is  to  make  his  own  way  in  the  world  is 
hurtful  to  the  last  degree. 

As  the  result  of  these  two  causes,  —  with 
others,  doubtless,  — young  men  of  the  pres- 
ent years,  as  a  class,  are  not  facing  life  with 
that  resolute  and  definite  purpose  that  is 
essential  both  to  manhood  and  to  external 
success.  There  is  far  less  of  this  early  meas- 
urement and  laying  hold  of  life  with  some 
definite  intent  than  there  was  a  generation 
ago.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  we  could  not 
again  fight  the  war  for  the  Union  to  the 
same  issue.  Young  men  do  not  so  much 
go  to  college  as  they  are  sent.  They  do  not 
push  their  way  into  callings,  but  suffer  them- 
selves to  be  led  into  them.  Indeed,  the  sa- 
cred word  calling  seems  to  have  lost  its 
meaning  ;  they  hear  no  voice  summoning 
them  to  the  appointed  field,  but  drift  into 
this  or  that,  as  happens.  They  appear  to  be 
waiting,  —  to  be  floating  with  the  current 
instead  of  rowing  up  the  stream  towards 
the  hills  where  lie  the  treasures  of  life.  I 
mean,  of  course,  that  this  seems  to  be  the 
drift,  —  not  that  it  is  a  deliberate  purpose. 

My  object  is  to  interrupt  this  tendency,  — - 
io  induce  you  to  aim  at  a  far  end  rather 


6  PURPOSE. 

than  a  near  one ;  to  live  under  a  purpose 
rather  than  under  impulse  ;  to  set  aside  the 
thought  of  enjoyment,  and  get  to  thinking 
of  attainment ;  to  conceive  of  life  as  a  race 
instead  of  a  drift. 

Men  may  be  divided  in  many  ways,  but 
there  is  no  clearer  cut  division  than  between 
those  who  have  a  purpose  and  those  who 
are  without  one.  It  is  the  character  of  the 
purpose  that  determines  the  character  of 
the  man,  —  for  a  purpose  may  be  good  or 
bad,  high  or  low.  It  is  the  strength  and 
definiteness  of  the  purpose  that  determine 
the  measure  of  success. 

It  is  one  of  the  gracious  features  of  our 
nature  that  we  are  capable  of  forming  high 
and  noble  purposes.  The  mind  overleaps  its 
ignorance,  and  fixes  upon  what  is  wisest 
and  best.  A  cliild  is  always  planning  no- 
ble things  before  its  "  life  fades  into  the 
liglit  of  the  common  day."  There  may  not 
always  be  congruity  in  these  early  ambi- 
tions, but  they  are  nearly  always  noble.  A 
friend  of  mine  set  out  in  life  with  the  com- 
plex purpose  of  becoming  "  a  great  man,  a 
good  man,  and  a  stage-driver."  He  has 
not  yet  achieved  greatness,  and  I  doubt  if 
bo  has  ever  held  a  four-in-hand  or  knows 


PURPOSE.  7 

what  tandem  means,  except  in  its  Latin 
sense ;  but  he  has  not  failed  in  the  other 
part,  being  the  worth}^  pastor  of  a  church, 
over  which  he  presides  with  a  dignity  and 
wisdom  that  are  the  proper  outcome  of  his 
early  conceptions.  The  weaker  element 
naturally  passed  away,  and  the  nobler  ones 
took  up  his  expanding  powers. 

Nor  does  this  distinction  divide  men  ac- 
cording to  good  and  bad  ;  for,  while  an 
aimless  man  cannot  be  said  to  be  good,  he 
may  cherish  a  very  definite  aim  without 
ranking  amongst  the  virtuous.  Few  men 
ever  held  to  a  purpose  more  steadily  than 
Warren  Hastings,  having  for  the  dream 
and  sole  motive  of  his  youth  and  manhood 
to  regain  the  lost  estates  and  social  position 
of  his  family ;  but  he  can  hardly  be  classed 
amongst  good  men.  He  is  a  fine  example, 
however,  of  how  a  clearly  conceived  pur- 
pose strengthens  and  inspires  a  man.  The 
career  of  Beaconsfield  —  the  most  brilliant 
figure  amongst  modern  English  statesmen 
—  is  another  illustration  of  how  a  definite 
purpose  carries  a  man  on  to  its  fulfillment. 
When  the  young  Jew  was  laughed  and 
jeered  into  silence  in  his  first  attempt  to 
^di'ess   the    House   of    Commons,   he   re^ 


8  PURPOSE. 

marked,  "  The  time  will  come  when  you 
will  hear  me ; "  speaking  not  out  of  any 
pettishness  of  the  moment,  but  from  a  set- 
tled purpose  to  lead  his  compeers.  The  re- 
buff but  whetted  the  edge  of  his  grand 
ambition. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  purpose,  if 
cherished    with    sufficient   energy,   will   al- 
ways carry  a  man  to  its  goal,  —  for  every 
man  has  his  limitations,  —  but  rather  that 
it  is  sure   to   carry  him    on    towards  some 
kind   of   success ;    often   it   proves   greater 
than   that   aimed    at.      Shakespeare   went 
down  to  London  to  retrieve  his  fortune,  — 
a   very   laudable   purpose ;    but   the   ardor 
with  which  he  sought  it  unwittingly  ended 
in  the  greatest  achievements  of  the  human 
intellect.     Saul    determined   to   crush   out 
Christianity  ;  but  the  energy  of  his  purpose 
was  diverted  to  the  opposite  and  immeasur- 
ably nobler  end.      It  would  be  absurd  for 
me  to  assure  you  that  if  you  aim  and  strive 
with    sufficient    energy    to    become    great 
statesmen,  or  the  heads  of  corporations,  or 
famous  poets  or  artists,  or  for  any  other  spe- 
cific high  end,  you  will  certainly  reach  it. 
For  thongh  there  are  certain  great  prizes 
that  any  man   may  win  who  will  pay  the 


PURPOSE. 


price,  there  are  others  that  are  reserved 
for  the  few  who  are  peculiarly  fortunate, 
or  have  peculiar  claims.  The  Providence 
that,  blindly  to  us,  endows  and  strangely 
leads,  apportions  the  great  honors  of  exist- 
ence ;  but  Providence  has  nothing  good  or 
high  in  store  for  one  who  does  not  reso- 
lutely aim  at  something  high  and  good. 
A  purpose  is  the  eternal  condition  of  suc- 
cess. Nothing  will  take  its  place.  Talent 
will  not ;  nothing  is  more  common  than 
unsuccessful  men  of  talent.  Genius  will 
not;  unrewarded  genius  is  a  proverb;  the 
"  mute,  inglorious  Milton  "  is  not  a  poetic 
creation.  The  chance  of  events,  the  push 
of  circumstances,  will  not.  The  natural  un- 
folding of  faculties  will  not.  Education 
will  not ;  the  country  is  full  of  unsuccessful 
educated  men;  indeed,  it  is  a  problem  of 
society  what  to  do  with  the  young  men  it 
is  turning  out  of  its  colleges  and  profes- 
sional schools.  There  is  no  road  to  success 
but  through  a  clear,  strong  purpose.  A 
purpose  underlies  character,  culture,  posi- 
tion, attainment  of  whatever  sort.  Shake- 
speare says :  "  Some  achieve  greatness,  and 
some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them ; ' 
but  the  latter  is  external,  and  not  to  be  ao. 
counted  as  success. 


10  PURPOSE. 

It  is  worth  while  to  look  into  the  reasons 
of  the  matter  a  little. 

(1.)  A  purpose,  steadily  held,  trains  the 
faculties  into  strength  and  aptness. 

The  first  main  thing  a  man  has  to  do  in 
this  world  is  to  turn  his  possibilities  into 
powers,  or  to  get  the  use  of  himself.  Here 
we  are  packed  full  of  faculties,  —  physical, 
mental,  moral,  social,  —  with  almost  no  in- 
stincts, and  therefore  no  natural  use  of 
them  ;  a  veritable  box  of  tools,  ready  for 
use.  Think  what  a  capability  is  lodged  in 
the  hand  of  the  pianist  or  of  the  physician, 
—  fairly  seeing  with  his  fingers.  Or  take 
the  mechanical  eye,  instantly  seizing  pro- 
portions ;  or  the  ear  of  the  musician  ;  or  the 
mind  bending  itself  to  mathematical  prob- 
lems, or  grouping  wide  arrays  of  facts  for 
induction, —  the  every-day  work  of  the  pro- 
fessional man,  the  merchant,  and  the  manu- 
facturer. How  to  use  these  tools  —  how  to 
get  the  faculties  at  work  —  is  the  main  ques- 
tion. The  answer  is,  steady  use  under  a 
main  purpose. 

The  call  to-day  is  not  only  for  educated, 
but  for  trained  men.  The  next  mightiest 
event  that  daily  happens  in  this  world  of 
ours,  after  the  sunrise,  —  that  "  daily  mira. 


PURPOSE.  11 

cle,"  as  Edwin  Arnold  calls  it,  —  is  the  pub- 
lication of  such  a  newspaper  as  the  "  New 
York  Herald "  or  "London  Times."  If  it 
were  possible  to  send  to  Mars  or  Jupiter 
a  single  illustration  of  our  highest  achieve- 
ments, it  should  be  a  copy  of  a  great  Daily. 
I  thick  nothing  finer  could  be  brought  back. 
But  what  produces  this  superb  and  gigautie 
achievement  three  hundred  and  more  times 
a  year  ?  Not  learning,  talent,  energy,  nor 
money,  but  training.  From  the  editor-in- 
chief,  with  his  frequent  leaders,  —  broad, 
compact,  trenchant,  —  and  the  manager, 
bringing  together  the  various  departments 
in  just  proportion  and  harmony,  so  that 
the  paper  goes  from  the  press  almost  like 
the  solar  system  in  its  adjusted  balance, 
down  to  the  folding  and  distributing  de- 
partments, the  work  throughout  is  done 
by  men  trained  to  their  specific  tasks  by 
steady  and  sympathetic  habit. 

Every  man's  work  should  be  both  an  in- 
spiration and  a  trade  ;  that  is,  he  should 
love  it,  and  he  should  have  that  facility  in 
it  that  comes  from  use.  It  is  said  that  Na- 
poleon could  go  through  the  manual  of  the 
common  soldier  better  than  any  man  in  his 
armies.     He  would  not  have  been  the  great- 


12  PURPOSE. 

sst  general  had  he  not  been  the  best  soldier , 
his  genius  would  have  been  weak  without 
the  support  of  the  drill  and  the  practical 
knowledge  of  all  the  details  of  the  military. 
So  of  raih-oading,  now  one  of  the  great 
callings ;  it  has  become  a  nearly  universal 
custom  that  every  higher  position  shall  bo 
filled  from  below  by  promotion,  according 
to  excellence,  and  this  excellence  turns  upon 
two  points  :  an  intelligent  and  sympathetic 
mterest  in  the  work,  and  consequent  handi- 
ness  in  it.  One  cannot  look  over  a  com- 
pany of  railroad  men  without  perceiving 
that  those  highest  up  have  the  most  head 
for  the  entire  business.  I  have  noticed,  in 
looking  at  machinery,  that  the  proprietor 
can  explain  it  better  than  the  workman  who 
operates  it. 

All  lines  of  business  are  conducted  more 
and  more  upon  the  principle  of  promotion. 
Less  and  less  do  men  step  from  one  occupa- 
tion to  another.  The  demand  is  for  trained 
men.  But  life  is  too  short  and  the  stand- 
ards are  too  severe  for  various  trainings. 
It  is  seldom  one  is  found  who  has  thoroughly 
fitted  himself  for  diverse  pursuits.  Our  apt- 
itudes are  not  many.  Pick  out  the  success- 
ful man  in  almost  any  occupation,  and  nearlj 


PURPOSE.  13 

tvithout  exception  it  will  be  found  lie  has 
been  trained  to  it. 

(2.)  Life  is  cumulative  in  all  ways.  A 
steady  purpose  is  like  a  river,  that  gathers 
volume  and  momentum  by  flowing  on.  The 
successful  man  is  not  one  who  can  do  many 
things  indifferently,  but  one  thing  in  a  su- 
perior manner.  Versatility  is  overpraised. 
There  is  a  certain  value  in  having  many 
strings  to  one's  bow,  but  there  is  more  value 
in  having  a  bow  and  a  string,  a  hand  and 
an  eye,  that  will  every  time  send  the  arrow 
into  the  bull's-eye  of  the  target.  The  world 
is  full  of  vagabonds  who  can  turn  their 
hands  to  anything.  The  man  who  does  odd 
iobs  is  not  the  one  who  gets  very  far  up  in 
any  job.  The  factotum  is  a  convenience, 
but  he  is  seldom  a  success.  The  machinist 
who  works  in  anywhere  is  not  the  one  who 
is  put  to  the  nicest  work.  A  certain  con- 
centration is  essential  to  excellence,  except 
in  rare  cases  like  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  and 
Pascal,  and  Aristotle,  and  Fi'anklin,  whose 
natures  were  so  broad  as  to  cover  all  studiea 
^\id  pursuits.  One  of  the  most  extensive 
wool-buyers  in  the  world  says  that  his  sue- 
sess  is  due  to  the  fact  that  his  father  and 
grandfather  handled  wool,  that  \m  own  ear- 


14  PURPOSE. 

liest  recollections  were  of  handling  wool, 
and  that  he  had  kept  on  handling  it.  The 
largest  manufacturer  of  paper  in  the  coun- 
try is  the  son  of  a  paper-maker,  born  and 
bred  to  all  the  details  of  the  business. 
There  are,  indeed,  many  cases  of  large  suc- 
cess where  men  have  passed  from  one  pur- 
suit to  another,  but  in  most  you  will  find 
a  certain  unity  running  through  their  vari- 
ous occupations.  One  may  begin  a  stone- 
cutter and  end  as  a  geologist,  like  Hugh 
Miller,  or  a  sculptor,  like  Powers ;  or  as  a 
machinist,  and  turn  out  an  inventor  ;  or  as  a 
printer,  and  become  a  publisher.  A  strong 
definite  purpose  is  many-handed,  and  lays 
hold  of  whatever  is  near  that  can  serve  it ; 
it  has  a  magnetic  power  that  draws  to  itself 
whatever  is  kindred. 

(3.)  A  purpose,  by  holding  one  down  to 
some  steady  pursuit  and  legitimate  occupa- 
tion, wars  against  the  tendency  to  engage 
in  ventures  and  speculations.  The  devil  of 
the  business  world  is  chance.  Chance  ia 
cliaotic ;  it  belongs  to  the  period 


"WLcn  eldest  NiRht 
And  Chaos,  ancestors  of  Nature,  held 
Etenial  anarcny  amidst  the  noise 
Of  endless  wars,  and  by  confusion  stood." 


PURPOSE.  15 

It  is  opposed  in  nature  to  order  and  law ; 
it  is  the  abdication  of  reason,  the  enthrone- 
ment of  guess.  The  chance  element  in 
business  is  not  only  demoralizing  to  the 
man,  but  in  the  long  run  it  is  disastrous  to 
his  fortunes.  And  if  it  yields  a  temporary 
success  it  is  a  success  unearned,  and  there- 
fore unappreciated  ;  for  we  must  put  some- 
thing of  thought  and  genuine  effort  into  ar 
enterprise  before  we  can  get  any  substan 
tial  good  out  of  it.  The  defalcations,  the 
shoddy  of  society,  the  diamonds  gleaming 
on  unwashed  hands,  the  ignorance  that 
looks  through  plate-glass,  and  no  small  part 
of  the  crime  that  looks  through  iron  bars, 
are  the  creations  of  the  chance  or  specula- 
tive element  in  business.  No  good  ever 
comes  from  it.  If  it  lifts  a  man  up,  it  is 
only  to  dash  him  to  the  earth.  In  Califor- 
nia they  aptly  call  it  "  playing  with  the 
tiger,"  and  the  game  always  ends  by  the 
tiger  eating  the  man.  The  chances  in  the 
stock  market  of  San  Francisco  are  less  than 
in  Chinese  gambling,  at  which  the  Caucas- 
ian affects  to  laugh ;  but  the  Mongolian 
plays  to  better  purpose  with  his  one  chance 
in  ten  than  does  the  other  in  the  ever-re- 
curring bonanza.     The  Californians  are  not 


16  PURPOSE. 

yet  a  rich  people;  but  almost  every  old 
resident  has  at  some  time  held  a  fortune  in 
his  hands.  Their  speculations  are  very  like 
their  smelting  of  quicksilver,  —  going  up  an 
expansive  vapor,  but  trickling  back  solid 
into  a  single  reservoir.  If  there  is  one  pur- 
pose a  young  man  needs  to  hold  to  rigidly 
and  without  exception,  it  is  to  keep  to  le« 
gitimate  modes  of  business.  Don't  abjure 
your  reason  by  appealing  to  chance,  nor 
insult  order  by  taking  up  that  which,  as 
IMilton  says,  "by  confusion  stands."  Don't 
of  deliberate  purpose  make  a  figure  of  your- 
self for  "  the  spirits  of  the  wise  sitting  in 
the  clouds  to  laugh  at."  A  steady  purpose 
embodied  in  a  substantial  pursuit  shuts  out 
these  chance  forms  of  business.  Question 
the  men  of  substantial  character  and  fort- 
une, and  you  will  find  that  they  have 
avoided  the  illegitimate  in  business,  and 
have  held  fast  to  some  steady  line  of  pur- 
suit, —  busy  in  prosperous  times  and  pa- 
tiently waiting  in  hard  times.  The  last 
ten  years  have  witnessed  a  bravery  and 
mgacity  worthy  of  highest  admiration,  — 
men  conducting  business  year  after  year 
without  profit  or  at  a  loss,  keeping  up  their 
relations  with  the  business  world,  carrying 


PURPOSm..  17 

along  their  employees,  exercising  forbear- 
ance with  less  fortunate  creditors,  nursing 
the  dull  embers  of  their  unremunerative 
business  instead  of  petulantly  suffering 
them  to  go  out.  The  previous  ten  years 
ehowed  us  the  heroism  of  war  ;  but  these 
ten  years  of  stagnation  have  revealed  the 
heroism  of  peace,  and  these  brave,  patient 
waiters  upon  fortune  are  now  reaping  their 
reward,  while  those  who  gave  up  and 
turned  to  this  and  that  are  out  of  the  ranks 
of  our  great  army  of  prosperity. 

It  may  seem  from  what  I  have  said  that 
I  would  advise  young  men  to  concentrate 
their  entire  energies  upon  a  pursuit,  and 
forget  all  else.  But  I  am  very  far  from 
doing  that. 

The  most  fundamental  mistake  men  make 
is  in  not  recognizing  the  breadth  of  their 
nature,  and  a  consequent  working  of  some 
single  part  of  it.  One  must  give  play  to 
his  whole  nature  and  fill  out  all  his  re- 
lations, or  he  will  have  a  poor  ending.  He 
must  heed  the  social,  domestic,  and  relig- 
ious elements  of  his  being,  as  well  as  the 
Bingle  one  that  yields  him  a  fortune.  These 
should  be  embraced  under  a  purpose  as 
tlear  and   strong  as   that   which   leads   to 


18  PURPOSE. 

wealth,  aud  be  cherished,  not  out  of  a  bara 
sense  of  duty,  but  for  manly  completeness. 
The  most  pitiable  sight  one  ever  sees  is  a 
young  man  doing  nothing ;  the  furies  early 
drag  him  to  his  doom.  Hardly  less  pitiar 
ble  is  a  young  man  doing  but  one  thing, — 
his  whole  being  centred  on  money  or  fame 
—  forgetful  of  the  broad  world  of  intellec- 
tual capacity  within  him,  of  the  broader 
and  sweeter  world  of  social  and  domestic 
life,  and  of  the  infinite  world  of  the  spirit 
that  inspires  him  on  every  side,  and  holds 
his  destinies,  whether  he  knows  it  or  not. 
It  is  not  only  quite  possible,  but  an  easy 
and  natural  thing,  for  a  young  man  front- 
ing life  to  say,  I  will  make  the  most  of 
myself ;  I  will  recognize  my  whole  nature  ; 
I  will  neglect  no  duty  that  belongs  to  all 
men  ;  I  will  carry  along  with  an  even  and 
just  hand  those  relations  that  make  up  a 
full  manhood. 

I  find  four  general  purposes  that  should 
enter  into  the  plan  of  every  man's  life  as 
essential  to  its  completeness.  Hereafter  I 
(.hall  speak  more  definitely  ;  now  only  of 
fundamental  or  leading  purposes. 

(1.)  A  young  man  should  have  an  em- 
ployment congenial,  if  possible,  and  as  near 


PURPOSE.  19 

as  may  be  to  the  line  of  pursuit  he  intends  to 
follow.  I  haye  anticipated  much  that  might 
be  said  here.  The  choice  of  a  profession  or 
occupation  is  a  hard  one  to  handle  practi- 
cally or  speculatively.  So  many  are  forced 
into  work,  and  take  that  nearest  at  hand , 
so  many  drift  into  an  occupation  because 
the  time  has  come ;  so  many  are  set  to  work 
too  early  for  choice,  that  few  seem  left  who 
can  make  a  careful  selection.  It  is  a  sad 
thing  that  any  should  be  defrauded  of  this 
natural  prerogative.  It  may  be  quite  right 
to  train  a  boy  to  a  calling,  but  never  to  the 
exclusion  of  his  personal  choice ;  if  for  the 
ministry,  and  he  deliberately  prefers  to  be- 
come a  machinist,  or  a  farmer,  or  an  editor, 
it  must  be  suffered.  A  call,  or  calling,  is  a 
divine  thing,  and  must  be  obeyed.  Pitt  was 
trained  from  his  earliest  years  for  the  great 
place  he  filled,  but  for  the  most  part  great 
men  have  chosen  for  themselves.  But  one 
should  settle  the  matter  only  after  very 
thorough  consideration.  Dr.  Bushnell  once 
said  to  a  young  man  who  was  consulting 
him  on  this  point,  "  Grasp  the  handle  of 
your  being,"  —  a  most  significant  and  pro- 
lound  piece  of  advice.  There  is  in  every 
one  a  taste  or  fitness  that  is  as  a  liandle  to 


20  PURPOSE. 

the  faculties;  if  one  gets  hold  of  it,  he 
can  work  the  entire  machinery  of  his  being 
to  the  best  advantage.  Before  committing 
one's  self  to  a  pursuit,  one  should  make  a 
very  thorough  exploration  of  himself,  and 
get  down  to  the  core  of  his  being.  The 
fabric  of  one's  life  should  rest  upon  the  cen- 
tral and  abiding  qualities  of  one's  nature, 

—  else  it  will  not  stand.  Hence  a  choice 
should  be  based  on  Avhat  is  within  rather 
than  be  drawn  from  without.  Choose  your 
employment  because  you  like  it,  and  not  be- 
cause it  has  some  external  promise.  The 
"good  opening"  is  in  the  man,  —  not  in 
circumstances.  An  ill-adaptation  will  nul- 
lify any  good  promise,  while  aptitude  cre- 
ates success.  All  true  life  and  success  are 
from  within.  God  so  made  the  world  and 
all  things  in  it,  —  "  seed  within  itself  "  is 
the  eternal  law.  I  do  not  mean  that  every 
boy  has  an  inborn  taste  for  some  specific 
work,  —  type-setting,  or  blacksmithing,  or 
editing.  Aptitudes  are  generic  ;  if  one  fol- 
lows his  general  taste  he  will  probably  suc- 
ceed in  several  kindred  pursuits.  While  we 
cannot  well  go  contrary  to  nature,  there  is  a 
certain  play  and  oscillation  of  our  faculties, 

—  as  of  the  planets  that   yet  keep  to  the 


PURPOSE.  21 

appointed  journey.  The  mechaiiical  eye 
covers  a  large  variety  of  employments.  A 
spirit  of  ministration  is  fundamental  to  at 
least  two  of  the  great  professions.  One  of 
an  intensely  reflective  disposition  should 
not  make  existence  a  long  battle  by  bind- 
ing himself  to  a  life  of  external  activity; 
and  many  a  man  pines  and  shrivels  in  the 
study  who  would  exult  in  a  life  upon  the 
soil.  But  having  got  into  some  occupation 
or  line  of  pursuit  that  is  fairly  congenial, 
running  in  the  direction  of  your  inmost 
taste  and  aptitude,  hold  fast  to  it.  If  it  is 
altogether  distasteful  after  fair  trial,  throw 
it  aside,  and  start  again.  No  one  can  row 
against  the  stream  all  his  life  and  make 
a  success  of  it.  It  is  fundamental  that 
there  should  be  in  the  main  accord  between 
the  man  and  his  work.  I  do  not  mean  that 
one  is  absolutely  to  do  the  same  thing  — 
shove  the  plane,  beat  the  anvil,  tend  the 
loom,  measure  land,  sell  goods  —  to  the  end, 
but  that  he  should  continue  in  the  same  gen- 
eral department, — thas  utilizing  previous 
aptness  and  experience.  The  work  first  un- 
dertaken may  be  too  restricting  ;  one  should 
be  always  looking  for  its  higher  forms. 
One  may  climb  by  a  steady  purpose  as  well 


22  PURPOSE. 

as  by  a  persistent  iteration  of  the  same 
thing,  but  it  must  be  in  a  related  field  of 
effort.  Successful  life  is  commonly  of  one 
piece ;  and  it  comes  of  intelligent  purpose, 
—  never  by  chance. 

(2.)  Having  thus  settled  into  some  fair 
line  of  pursuit,  the  next  main  purpose 
should  be  to  get  a  home  of  one's  own. 
Every  young  man  expects  to  marry,  and 
this  expectation  ought  to  carry  with  it  the 
definite  thought  of  a  home,  —  a  thing  not 
realized  under  any  boarding  or  renting  sys- 
tem. 

I  put  this  among  the  fundamental  pur- 
poses simply  because  it  is  such.  Character, 
happiness,  destiny,  turn  on  its  realization. 
It  is  the  main  safeguard  against  immoral- 
ity. It  is  essential  to  a  development  of, 
the  whole  nature.  It  is  the  chief  source  of 
sound  and  abiding  happiness.  It  is  the  sur- 
est defense  against  evil  fortune.  When 
once  a  home  has  been  secured,  abject  pov- 
erty almost  never  follows.  Man  is  like  tlie 
animals  in  that  his  first  need  is  a  place  in 
which  to  hide  his  head.  Indeed,  a  home 
Bums  up  life ;  outside  of  it,  it  is  meagre  and 
partial.  In  the  home  every  worthy  purpose 
Qnds  realization.     It  is  the  objective  point 


PURPOSE.  23 

in  existence,  —  a  home  beyond  and  a  home 
here.  Hence  it  should  not  only  mingle  in 
one's  dreams  as  among  the  probabilities,  but 
should  enter  in  amongst  the  distinct  pur- 
poses. "  A  home  of  my  own,"  —  no  phrase 
of  English  words  is  so  sweet  as  that.  A 
bit  of  ground  where  you  can  plant  a  rose 
and  hope  to  pluck  its  blossoms  as  the  sum- 
mers come  and  go ;  a  roof  that  shall  be 
your  shelter  for  tender  dependents ;  a  spot 
of  earth  and  a  house  owned,  and  so  minis- 
tering to  that  deep  call  for  a  resting  place 
natural  to  us  all ;  a  home  to  hold  loved  ones 
while  they  live,  and  to  enshrine  their  mem- 
ory when  they  are  gone  ;  the  goal  of  labors, 
the  sanctuary  of  the  affections,  the  gateway 
into  and  out  of  the  world,  —  a  thing  so  cen- 
tral and  large  as  this  should  enter  into  one's 
plans  with  sharp  and  strong  purpose. 

(3.)  Another  central  purpose  should  be 
to  become  a  good  citizen.  This  is  not  so 
trite  a  point  as  it  seems.  The  moralizing 
on  our  relation  to  government  that  abounds 
in  literature  and  common  speech  chiefly  re- 
fers to  subjects  rather  than  to  citizens. 
Obedience  and  loyalty  are  old  virtues ;  citi- 
zenship is  comparatively  a  new  thing,  of 
ipliich  we  have  yet  hardly  a  full  conception. 


24  PURPOSE. 

To  obey  as  subjects  is  a  duty  very  well  un- 
derstood ;  to  govern  as  citizens  is  a  complex 
act,  involving  the  two  duties  of  obedience 
and  ruling.  The  Sovereign  People  is  a  vast 
and  significant  phrase.  If  we  were  to  spec- 
ulate upon  it,  we  should  find  that  it  in- 
volves the  highest  function  of  man  ;  for  man 
reaches  the  perfection  of  his  nature  when 
obedience  and  sway  are  perfectly  coordi- 
nated, —  that  is,  when  he  has  learned  to 
obey  and  to  rule,  doing  each  perfectly.  To 
overcome  and  sit  in  an  eternal  throne  is  the 
highest  glimpse j)f  revealed  destjny.  It  is 
something  very  gi'^pd  an.d  inspiring  —  if  we 
will  think  of  it  —  that^  pur  j country  puts 
upon  us  as  citizens  this  sum  and  end  of  all 
duties ;  that  citizenship  is  in  the  direct 
line  of  eternal  destiny.  It  is  an  adjustment 
of  the  political  and  the  spiritual  that  marks 
the  coming  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  One 
of  the  thoughts  to  which  a  young  man 
should  school  himself  is  that  he  is  an  actual 
part  of  the  government.  Good  citizenship 
tlms  becomes  an  inalienable  duty,  an  obli- 
gation springing  from  the  nature  of  things. 
When  one  is  so  related  to  the  state  he  can- 
not see  a  law  broken,  or  a  public  trust 
abused,  or  an  oflSce   perverted,  without  a 


PURPOSE.  26 

flense  of  personal  wrong.  The  great  Louis 
said,  "  I  am  France,"  but  every  American 
citizen  can  say,  "  I  am  the  state."  By  good 
citizenship  I  do  not  mean  necessarily  a 
mingling  in  what  is  technically  named  pol- 
itics, though  one  must  not  hold  one's  self 
aloof  from  the  details  of  citizenship,  but 
rather  that  the  public  welfare  should  weigh 
steadily  on  every  man's  heart  and  con- 
science ;  as  it  was  the  duty  of  every  Ro- 
man to  "  see  to  it  that  no  harm  came  to  the 
republic." 

I  place  good  citizenship  amongst  the  fun- 
damental aims,  because  it  represents  a  feel- 
ing that  is  central  to  character.  One  can- 
not avoid  it  without  self-injury.  It  leaves 
a  man  exposed  to  the  absorption  of  his  pri- 
vate business,  and  so  to  that  selfishness  and 
narrowness  that  comes  from  a  limited  range 
of  interests.  Exclusive  devotion  to  the 
home  makes  one  weak  ;  to  business,  selfish. 
A  hearty  and  practical  interest  in  the  stato 
alone  can  make  one  strong  and  large. 

(4.)  After  one  has  well  settled  himself  in 
these  three  main  relations,  —  employment, 
home,  country,  —  all  other  general  purposes 
may  be  summed  up  in  the  one  word  culture  ; 
Or,  as  this  is  a  somewhat  derided  and  over- 


26  PURPOSE:. 

used  word  at  present,  I  will  put  it  otherwise 

—  resolve  to  make  the  most  of  yourself. 
Still  that  word  culture  is  the  best.  Culti' 
vate  yourself ;  I  do  not  mean  in  the  sense  of 
putting  on  a  finish,  but  of  feeding  the  roots 
of  your  being,  strengthening  your  capaci- 
ties, nourishing  whatever  is  good,  repress- 
ing whatever  is  bad.  Determine  that  not  i 
power  shall  go  to  waste ;  that  every  faculty 
shall  do  its  utmost  and  reach  its  highest. 
I  say  to  you  with  all  carefulness,  the  no- 
blest sight  this  world  offers  is  a  young  man 
bent  upon  making  the  most  of  himself. 
Alas  that  so  many  seem  not  to  care  what 
they  become ;  men  in  stature,  but  not  yet 
born  into  a  world  of  purpose  and  attainment, 

—  babes  in  their  comprehension  of  life  !  A 
cigar,  a  horse,  a  flirtation,  a  suit  of  clothes,  a 
night  of  drinking,  a  low  theatrical  or  dance, 
and  just  enough  work  to  attain  such  things, 
or  got  without  work,  —  how  the  spirits  of 
the  wise,  sitting  in  the  clouds,  laugh  at 
them  1  What  an  introduction  to  manhood 
iind  manly  duties  1  One  cannot  start  thus 
in  life,  and  make  himself  master  of  it,  or  get 
any  real  good  out  of  it.  A  part  of  his  folly 
may  ooze  out  as  the  burdens  of  life  press  on 
bim,  and  necessity  may  drive  him  to  sober 


PURPOSE.  27 

labor,  but  be  will  bait  and  stumble  to  tbe 
end.  It  is  a  sad  tbing  to  begin  life  witb 
low  conceptions  of  it.  Tbere  is  no  misfort- 
une comparable  to  a  youtb  witbout  a  sense 
of  nobility.  Better  be  born  blind  tban  not 
see  tbe  glory  of  life.  It  is  not,  indeed,  pos- 
sible for  a  young  man  to  measure  life,  but  it 
is  possible  to  cherisb  tbat  lofty  and  sacred 
enthusiasm  which  the  dawn  of  life  awakens. 
It  is  possible  to  say,  —  I  am  resolved  to 
put  life  to  its  noblest  and  best  use. 

If  I  could  get  the  ear  of  every  young  man 
for  but  one  word,  it  would  be  this :  Make 
the  most  and  the  best  of  yourself.  There  is 
no  tragedy  like  wasted  life,  —  life  failing  of 
its  end,  —  life  turned  to  a  false  end. 

The  true  way  to  begin  life  is  not  to  look 
off  upon  it  to  see  what  it  offers,  but  to  take 
a  good  look  at  self.  Find  out  what  you  are, 
how  you  are  made  up,  your  capacities  and 
lacks,  and  then  determine  to  get  the  most 
out  of  yourself  possible.  Your  faculties  are 
avenues  between  the  good  of  the  world  and 
yourself ;  the  larger  and  more  open  they 
are,  the  more  of  it  you  will  get.  Your  ob- 
ject should  be  to  get  all  the  riches  and 
sweetness  of  life  into  yourself  ;  the  method 
is  through  trained  faculties.     You  find  your 


28  PURPOSE. 

Belf  a   mind :    teacli   it  to   think,  to   work 
broadly  and   steadily,  to  serve  your  needa 
pliantly  and  faithfully.     You  find  in  your- 
self  social   capacities :    make   youi-self   the 
best  citizen,  the  best  friend  and  neighbor, 
the  kindest  son  and  brother,  the  truest  hus- 
band and  father.     Whatever  you  are  capa- 
ble of  in  these  directions,  that  be  and  do. 
Let  nothing  within  you  go  to  waste.     You 
also  find   in    yourself   moral  and   religious 
faculties.     Beware  lest  you  suffer  them  to 
lie  dormant,  or  but  summon  them  to  brief 
periodic  activity.     No   man  can  make   the 
Auost  of  himself  who  fails  to  train  this  side 
of   his   nature.     Deepen    and    clarify  your 
sense  of  God.     Gratify  by  perpetual  use  the 
inborn   desire   for   communion   with    Him. 
Listen   evermore  to  conscience.     Keep  the 
heart   soft  and    responsive   to   all   sorrow. 
Love  with   all   love's   divine   capacity  and 
quality.     And    above   all   let   your   nature 
stretch  itself  towards  that  sense  of  infinity 
that  comes  with  the  thought  of  God.    There 
is  nothing  that  so  deepens  and  amplifies  the 
nature  as  the  use  of  it  in  moral  and  spiritual 
ways.     One  cannot  make  the  most  of  one's 
Belf  who  leaves  it  out. 

If   these  general  purposes  are  resolutely 


PURPOSE.  29 

followed,  they  are  sure  to  yield  as  much  of 
success  as  is  possible  in  each  given  case. 

A  pursuit  followed  in  its  main  drift ;  a 
home  to  contain  the  life ;  good  citizenship 
as  the  sum  of  public  duties ;  culture,  or 
making  the  most  of  one's  self,  as  the  sum 
of  personal  and  religious  duties,  —  these  are 
the  four  winds  of  inspiration  that  should 
blow  through  the  heart  of  a  young  man ; 
these  are  the  foundations  of  that  city  of 
character  and  destiny  which,  when  built, 
lies  four-square,  —  Work,  Home,  Humanity, 
and  Self,  as  made  in  the  image  of  God  and 
iox  God. 


IL 

FRIENDS  AND  COMPANIONS. 


'  God  divided  man  into  men  that  they  might  help  each 
other."  —  Seneca. 

"A  man  that  hath  friends  must  show  himself  friendly."  — 
Solomon. 

"  A  talent  is  perfected  in  solitude  ;  a  character  in  the 
stream  of  the  world."  —  Goethe. 

"Live  with  wolves,  and  you  will  learn  to  howl."  —  Span- 
ish Proverb. 

"  Although  unconscious  of  the  pleasing  charm, 

The  mind  still  bends  where  friendship  points  the  way; 

Let  virtue  then  thy  partner's  bosom  warm. 
Lest  vice  should  lead  thy  softened  soul  astraj'." 

Tbkoomb,  from  Xenofihon. 


II. 

FRIENDS  AND  COMPANIONS. 

Without  doubt,  home  and  companions 
are  the  chief  external  influences  that  de- 
termine character.  One  is  nearly  always 
good,  because  it  is  charged  with  divine  in- 
stincts ;  the  other  is  uncertain  in  its  char- 
acter, because  it  springs  out  of  the  chances 
of  the  world.  The  main  feature  of  the 
home  is  love  which  "  works  no  ill ; "  hence 
its  natural  influence  is  favorable  to  good 
character.  Parents  for  the  most  part  in- 
culcate truth,  purity,  honesty,  and  kindness. 
With  abundant  allowance  for  mistake  and 
neglect,  the  influence  of  parents  and  brother 
and  sister  is  good,  but  outside  of  the  home 
there  is  no  such  certainty. 

When  John  bids  father  and  mother  good 
by  amongst  the  Berkshire  hills,  and  goes  to 
Boston  or  New  York  to  make  his  way  in  the 
world,  his  future  depends  with  almost  matli- 
ematical  certainty  upon  the  character  of  his 

3 


34  FRIENDS  AND  COMPANIONS. 

associates.  He  may  have  good  principles 
and  high  purposes  ;  tender  words  of  advice 
are  in  his  ears ;  his  Bible  lies  next  his 
heart,  and  love  follows  him  with  unceasing 
prayers ;  but  John  will  do  well  or  ill  as  he 
falls  amongst  good  or  bad  companions.  Ed- 
ucation, ingrafted  principles  and  tastes,  re- 
membered love,  ambition,  conscience,  —  all 
these  will  do  much  for  him,  but  they  will 
not  avail  against  this  later  influence. 

There  are  many  turning-points  when  the 
question  of  success  or  failure  is  decided  again 
and  again.  Life  is  a  campaign,  in  which  a 
series  of  fortresses  are  to  be  taken  ;  all  pre- 
vious victories  and  advances  may  be  thrown 
away  by  failure  in  the  next.  Nearly  the 
last  of  these  is  companionship  ;  if  one  wins 
the  victory  here,  the  reward  of  a  prosperous 
manhood  is  within  his  reach. 

At  the  risk  of  logically  inverting  ray  sub- 
^•ect,  I  will  speak  first  of  friendship  ;  and  I 
must  beg  your  patience  while  I  put  a  foun- 
dation under  my  suggestions. 

If  there  were  but  one  general  truth  that 
I  could  lodge  in  the  mind  of  any  one  or  all 
men,  it  would  be  this :  that  true  life  consists 
in  the  fulfillment  of  relations.  We  are  born 
into  relations ;  we  never  get  out  of  them 


FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS.  35 

all  duty  consists  in  meeting  tliem.  The 
family,  the  church,  the  state,  the  humanity 
at  large,  —  these  are  the  sources  of  our  pri- 
mary and  abiding  duties,  as  well  as  of  our 
happiness,  —  the  sum-total  of  ethics  and  re- 
ligion. 

The  relation  of  friends,  though  not  so 
sharply  defined  as  that  of  the  family  or  the 
state,  is  as  real  and  as  essential  to  a  full  life. 
Emerson  says  :  "  Maugre  all  the  selfishness 
that  chills  like  east  winds  the  world,  the 
whole  human  family  is  bathed  with  an  ele- 
ment of  love  like  a  fine  ether."  To  get  this 
ensphering  love  into  form  and  expression 
is  the  office  of  friendship.  Bacon  goes  so 
far  as  to  say  that  "  a  principal  fruit  of 
friendship  is  the  ease  and  discharge  of  the 
fullness  of  the  heart."  He  goes  on  in  his 
noble  and  wise  way  to  name  its  other  points, 
and  nothing  on  the  subject  is  better  than 
his  thi-eefold  statement  of  its  uses :  "  Peace 
ui  the  affections,  support  of  the  judgment, 
and  bearing  a  part  in  all  actions  and  occa- 
sions." 

It  is  not  enough  to  love  only  our  own 
tamily.  Love  is  a  great  and  wide  passion, 
demanding  various  food  and  broad  fields 
to  range  in.     When  one  is  only  "a  family 


36  FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS. 

man  "  be  may  liave  a  sound  nature,  but  it 
will  not  be  a  large  or  generous  one  ;  and 
he  will  shrink  rather  than  expand  with 
years,  and  sink  into  the  inevitable  sadnesa 
that  attends  old  age. 

Nor  is  Bacon's  second  point  of  less  impor- 
tance, —  to  aid  one's  judgment.  Advice  can 
hardly  come  from  any  other  than  a  friend 
when  the  question  involves  grave  issues.  A 
stranger  is  not  sufficiently  interested,  a  rel- 
ative is  blinded  by  excess  of  love,  but  a 
friend's  advice  is  tempered  by  affection, 
while  it  is  not  overruled  by  the  imperative- 
ness of  natural  instinct.  There  is  much 
wisdom  in  the  every-day  words,  "  As  a  friend 
I  advise  vou,"  for  no  other  can  advise  so 
well. 

Bacon's  third  point  —  friends  as  helpers 
on  all  occasions  —  does  not  have  its  full 
weight  until  we  learn  that  late  lesson  that 
man  is  not  equal  to  life.  There  is  more  to 
do  than  one  can  do  alone,  and  an  unfriended 
life  will  be  poor  and  meagre.  It  is  an  old 
Baying  that  "  a  friend  is  another  himself." 
If,  as  a  mere  matter  of  strength  and  re- 
Bource,  I  were  to  face  life  with  the  choice 
of  either  a  fortune  or  friends,  I  would  be 
wiser  to  choose  the  latter  as  more  helpful 


FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS.  37 

Of  course  I  regard  friendship  as  a  real  and 
abiding  thing,  and  not  as  that  other  thing 
that  comes  and  goes  with  fortune.  I  have 
no  faith  in  the  miserable  notions  that  the 
poor  are  friendless  because  they  are  poor, 
and  that  friends  desert  on  the  approach  of 
poverty.  Poverty  may  winnow  the  false 
from  the  true,  but  it  does  not  destroy  the 
wheat.  The  poor  may  be  friendless,  and 
even  poor  because  they  are  friendless,  never 
having  won  friends.  This  fine  relation  does 
not  turn  upon  poverty,  but  upon  dispo- 
sition, or  temper,  or  the  chances  of  life. 
Happy  is  he  who  wins  friends  in  early  life 
by  true  affinities !  He  multiplies  himself ; 
he  has  more  hands  and  feet  than  his  own, 
and  other  fortresses  to  flee  into  w^ien  his 
own  are  dismantled  bv  evil  fortune,  and 
other  hearts  to  throb  with  his  joy. 

Friendship  is  of  such  a  nature  that  it  is 
difficult  to  name  rules  for  it ;  it  is  its  own 
law  and  method.  So  ethereal  a  thing  can- 
not be  brought  under  choice  or  rule.  It 
is  rather  a  matter  of  destiny.  If  one  is 
born  to  have  friends  he  will  have  them. 
Emerson  says  that  one  need  not  seek  for 
friends ;  they  come  of  themselves.  But 
Solomon  goes  deeper  in  his  proverb :  "  A 


38  FRIENDS  AND  COMPANIONS 

man  that  hath  friends  must  show  himself 
friendly."  Let  one  offer  to  the  world  a 
large,  generous,  true,  sympathetic  nature, 
and,  rich  or  poor,  he  will  have  friends,  and 
he  will  never  be  friendless  whatever  catas- 
trophes befall  him. 

Not  as  giving  rules,  but  rather  touching 
the  matter  in  the  way  of  suggestion,  I  will 
name  a  few  points  that  it  is  well  to  think 
of:  — 

(1.)  Cultivate  the  friendly  spirit.  If  one 
would  have  friends  he  must  be  worthy  of 
them.  The  bright  plumage  and  the  songs 
of  birds  are  designed  to  win  their  mates. 
It  is  in  vain  for  one  to  say,  I  want  friends  ; 
I  will  go  seek  them.  Go  within  rather, 
and  establish  yourself  in  friendly  sympathy 
with  your  fellow-men  ;  learn  to  love  ;  get 
the  helpful  spirit,  and  above  all  the  respon- 
sive temper,  and  friends  will  come  to  you 
as  birds  fly  to  their  beautiful  singing  mates. 

(2.)  Make  friends  early  in  life,  else  you 
will  never  have  them.  Youth  is  often 
moody,  and  keeps  by  itself.  The  very  in- 
ccnsify  with  which  it  wakes  up  to  individ- 
uality drives  it  into  solitariness,  where  it 
morbidly  feasts  on  the  wonderful  fact  of 
selfhood.     There  is  danger  also  lest  we  be 


FRIENDS  AND  COMPANIONS.  39 

canglit  by  entertaining  companions  instead 
of  winning  congenial  friends,  and  so  start 
in  life  with  a  set  of  mere  associates.  It  is 
only  in  tlie  first  third  of  our  three-score 
and  ten  that  life-long  friends  are  made. 
Agreeable  associations  may  be  formed  later, 
and  now  and  then  a  friendship  when  there 
is  great  congeniality  and  freshness  of  spirit ; 
but  friendship  is  a  union  and  mingling,  a 
shaping  of  plastic  substances'  to  each  other 
that  cannot  be  effected  after  the  mould  of 
life  has  hardened.  We  may  touch  here- 
after, but  not  mingle. 

(3.)  Hold  fast  to  your  friends.  It  is  one 
of  the  commonest  regrets  in  after-life  that 
early  friendships  were  not  kept  up.  Change 
of  residence,  neglect  of  correspondence  or 
of  holiday  courtesies,  some  divergence  of 
taste  or  belief  or  outward  condition,  —  for 
some  such  cause  a  true  friendship  is  often 
Buffered  to  languish  and  die  out.  Shake 
speare  well  says  :  — 

"  I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy 
As  in  a  soul  rememb'ring  my  good  friends." 

And  again  in  Hamlet :  — 

"  The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel." 

(4.)  Make    a    point   of    having   friends 


40  FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS. 

amongst  your  elders.  Friendship  between 
those  of  the  same  age  is  sweeter,  but  friend- 
ship with  elders  is  more  useful,  or,  rather, 
they  supplement  each  other.  One  is  the 
wine  of  life ;  the  other  is  its  food.  The 
latter  balances  life,  and  brings  the  good  of 
all  periods  down  into  one.  It  is  one  of  the 
divinest  features  of  human  life  that  in  this 
•way  there  is  no  such  thing  as  solitary  youth 
or  solitary  age.  Youth  may  get  the  value, 
if  not  the  reality,  of  the  wisdom  of  age,  and 
age  keep  forever  young.  Theology  and 
poetry  assert  eternal  youth  ;  it  is  neither  a 
dogma  of  one  nor  a  dream  of  the  other,  but 
a  logical  realization  of  human  sympathy 
and  love.  There  is  nothing  more  detesta- 
ble in  American  society  than  the  drawing 
o£E  of  young  people  into  a  society  of  their 
own,  —  young  people's  parties  and  chil- 
dren's parties  !  There  is  not  only  a  strong 
flavor  of  vulgarity  in  it,  but  positive  loss  on 
both  sides. 

(5.)  Avoid  having  many  confidants.  It 
is  weak  ;  it  breeds  trouble.  Secrets  are  not 
in  themselves  good  things,  but  when  of  ne- 
cessity they  exist  their  nature  should  be 
respected.  Having  them,  it  is  well  to  keep 
Miem.     Avoid  also  the  effusive  habit.     It  is 


^'RIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS  41 

pitiable  to  see  a  man  pouring  hiiuself  out 
into  every  listening  ear,  —  mind  and  heart 
and  body  inverted,  the  girdle  of  selfhood 
thrown  aside,  and  all  the  secret  wavs  of  the 
being  laid  open  for  the  common  foot.  It 
is  a  violation  of  identity,  a  squandering  of 
personality.  The  secretive  temper  is  to  bo 
criticised ;  but  it  is  not  so  fatal  to  char- 
acter and  dignity  as  its  opposite.  There 
may  be  times  when  one  must  speak  all 
one's  thought  and  emotion,  —  self  is  too 
small  to  hold  the  joy  or  grief ;  but,  having 
done  it,  get  back  into  your  citadel  of  self- 
hood. We  never  quite  respect  the  man 
who  tells  us  everything.  Take  your  friends 
into  your  heart,  but  not  into  your  heart  of 
hearts  ;  reserve  that  for  yourself  and  duty. 

(6.)  Avoid  absorbing  and  exclusive  friend- 
ships. They  are  not  wise  ;  they  are  selfish, 
and  not  of  the  nature  of  true  friendship,  — 
forming  a  sort  of  common  selfhood  that  is 
but  a  double  selfishness.  They  commonly 
breed  trouble,  and  end  in  quarrel  and  heari> 
break. 

This  matter  of  friendship  is  often  re- 
garded slightingly,  as  a  mere  accessory  of 
life,  a  happy  chance  if  one  falls  into  it,  but 
not  as  entering  into   the  substance  of  life 


42  FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS. 

No  mistake  could  be  greater.  It  is  not,  aa 
Emerson  says,  a  thing  of  "  glass  threads  or 
frost-work,  but  the  solidest  thinor  -^e  know." 
"  There  is  in  friendship  "  —  as  Evelyn  writes 
in  the  Life  of  Mrs.  Godolphin  —  "  something 
of  all  relations  and  something  above  them 
all.  It  is  the  golden  thread  that  ties  the 
hearts  of  all  the  world." 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  touch  such  a  subject 
on  its  utilitarian  side,  still  it  is  well  to  know 
that  it  is  one  of  the  largest  factors  of  suc- 
cess not  only  in  the  social,  but  also  in  the 
commercial  and  political  worlds.  Many  a 
merchant  is  carried  through  a  crisis  by  his 
friends  when  the  strict  laws  of  business 
would  have  dropped  him  into  ruin.  It  was 
Lincoln's  immeasurable  capacity  for  friend- 
ship that  made  his  splendid  career  possible. 
It  is  this  same  superb  quality  that  is  pre- 
paring a  like  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  peo- 
ple for  Garfield,  —  breaking  out  spontane- 
ously in  all  his  utterances,  and  vindicating 
its  reality  by  an  unmistakable  ring.  It  is 
no  idle  thing.  Happiness,  success,  charac- 
ter, destiny,  largely  turn  upon  it.  I  will 
know  more  of  a  man  from  knowing  of  his 
friendships,  than  I  can  gain  from  any  other 
•ingle  source.     Tell  me  if  they  are  few  or 


FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS.  43 

many,  good  or  bad,  warm  or  indifferent, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  reliable  measure  of 
the  man. 

Companionship  logically  goes  before 
friendship,  but  I  put  it  last,  as  the  larger 
and  more  important  relation  for  you  to  con- 
sider. One  shapes  itself  by  a  law  of  affin- 
ity ;  the  other  is  made.  Choose  your  com- 
panions wisely,  and  your  friendships  will 
come  about  naturally. 

Young  men  are  often  told  that  conceic 
and  willfulness  are  their  most  marked  quali- 
ties. I  do  not  believe  it.  Their  largest  ca- 
pability is  that  of  inspiration.  They  do  not 
readily  take  advice  ;  they  resent  scolduig, 
and  utterly  rebel  against  force,  but  they 
yield  with  the  certainty  of  gravitation  to 
personal  influence.  Through  this  capabil- 
ity all  good  and  evil  get  into  us.  Youth  is 
its  period.  Then  heart  and  mind  are  open 
for  all  winds  to  blow  through,  —  "  airs  from 
heaven  or  blasts  from  hell."  A  great  part 
of  the  advantage  of  a  college  course  is  the 
contact  for  four  years  with  a  set  of  men 
who  are  scholars  and  gentlemen.  It  is  im- 
possible to  overestimate  the  inspiring  influ- 
ence of  contact  with  such  men  as  President 
Woolsey,  of  Yale,  and  President  Hopkins. 


44  FRIENDS  AND    COMPANIONS. 

of  Williams.  "  The  strongest  influence  1 
took  away  from  Yale,"  said  an  able  grad- 
uate, "  was  the  spirit  of  the  president." 
"  Something  in  President  Hopkins's  letter 
drew  me  to  Williams,"  said  Garfield.  The 
healthiest  influence  at  work  to-day  in  Eng- 
lish society  —  the  most  shaping  in  church 
and  state  —  runs  back  to  Dr.  Arnold,  of 
Rugby.  He  made  the  men  that  are  now 
making  England.  Dean  Stanley  says  of 
him,  "  His  very  presence  seemed  to  cre- 
ate a  new  spring  of  health  and  vigor  within 
them,  and  to  give  to  life  an  interest  and  ele- 
vation which  dwelt  so  habitually  in  their 
thoughts  as  a  living  image,  that,  when  death 
had  taken  him  away,  the  bond  appeared  to 
be  still  unbroken,  and  the  sense  of  separa- 
tion almost  lost  in  the  still  deeper  sense  of 
a  life  and  a  union  indestructible."  It  is 
often  hard  to  t(dl  where  the  good  that  is  in 
us  comes  from,  but  most  of  it  is  inspired, 
—  caught  by  contact  with  the  good.  "  It 
is  astonishing,"  says  Mozley,  "  how  much 
good  goodness  makes."  Old  John  Brown 
eaid,  "  For  a  settler  in  a  new  country,  one 
good  believing  man  is  worth  a  thousand 
without  character."  It  is  not  the  teaching 
of  th(^  pulpit  or  of  the  Bchools,  but  the  men 


FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS.  45 

w^ho  walk  up  and  down  the  streets,  tbat  de- 
termine the  character  of  a  community.  If 
the  leaders  of  society  are  not  noble,  no  drill 
of  teaching  or  pungency  of  exhortation  will 
arouse  high  thoughts  in  the  young. 

I  hesitate  to  touch  the  subject  more 
closely,  because  it  takes  us  into  a  field  where 
it  is  nearly  impossible  to  say  anything  that 
is  not  trite ;  but  if  the  subject  does  not  ad- 
mit of  originality,  it  admits  of  earnestness. 
I  ask  you  to  look  well  to  this  matter  of 
companions.  Evil  influences  are  not  resist- 
ible. They  may  not  always  overcome,  but 
they  inevitably  hurt. 

For  the  sake  of  distinctness,  let  us  put 
the  matter  into  the  form  of  rules. 

Resolutely  avoid  all  companionship  that 
falls  below  your  taste  and  standard  of  right. 
If  it  offends  you,  reject  it  with  instant  de- 
cision ;  a  second  look  is  dangerous.  Pope 
's  now  so  little  read  that  his  wise  lines  may 
seem  new :  — 

"  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face. 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace  " 

Familiarity  with  evil  —  the  familiarity 
if  contact  or  intimate  knowledge  —  never 


46  FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS. 

ceases  to  be  dangerous  to  any  one.  It  is 
the  glory  and  perfection  of  female  virtue 
that  it  does  not  know  evil.  The  Brooklyn 
preacher  debauched  his  congregation  when 
he  preached  on  the  sins  of  New  York.  The 
difficulty  in  securing  an  honest  and  decent 
police  is  due  to  their  close  contact  with 
vice  and  crime.  It  is  not  in  human  nature 
to  endure  such  contact  and  remain  pure. 
Whenever  you  meet  a  person  whose  knowl- 
edge of  evil  ways  is  full  and  close  and  ex- 
act, you  may  be  sure  he  is  not  sound  at 
heart.  Such  knowledge  is  not  knowledge, 
for  knowledge  pertains  to  order.  A  phi- 
losopher in  chaos  would  have  no  vocation. 
If  an  associate  swears,  or  lies,  or  drinks,  or 
gambles ;  if  he  is  tricky,  or  lascivious,  or 
vile  in  his  talk  ;  if  his  thoughts  easily  run 
to  baseness,  put  a  wide  space  between  him 
and  yourself ;  give  room  for  the  pure  winds 
of  heaven  to  blow  between  you.  But  a 
closer  distinction  is  to  be  made.  Get  at 
the  temper  of  your  associate ;  or,  in  your 
own  sensible  phrase,  find  out  the  kind  of 
a  fellow  he  is,  btifore  you  make  a  friend 
of  him.  On  the  first  show  of  meanness  or 
lack  of  lionor,  let  him  go.  If  he  is  without 
R  high   ambition,   beware   of  him.     If  his 


FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS.  47 

fchoughts  run  strongly  to  one  thing,  —  money, 
or  dress,  or  society,  or  popularity,  —  he  can 
do  little  for  you.  If  he  is  cruel  or  negligent 
of  duty  to  his  family,  if  he  is  quick  to  take 
undue  advantage,  if  he  is  penurious,  if  he 
Bcoffs  at  religion,  if  he  derides  the  good,  if 
be  is  skeptical  of  virtue,  if  he  is  scornful 
of  good  custom,  you  cannot  afford  to  class 
yourself  with  him. 

But  one  cannot  always  choose  his  asso- 
ciates. I  do  not  forget  how  many  of  you 
are  thrown  together  in  the  same  office,  or 
store,  or  shop,  or  mill,  or  class.  But  this 
does  not  necessitate  intimate  and  sympa- 
thetic relations.  Here  is  where  you  are  to 
choose,  and  stand  firm  in  your  choice.  The 
attitude  of  a  mean  or  bad  man  is.  Come  to 
my  level  if  you  would  be  my  friend ;  and 
he  is  right.  Companionship  must  be  on  a 
level  morally,  though  it  need  not  be  intel- 
lectually. An  ignorant  person  may  be  a 
harmless  and  even  pleasant  friend.  Sam 
Lawson,  in  Mrs.  Stowe's  "  Oldtown  Folks,'* 
was  a  very  good  companion  for  man  or  boy, 
despite  his  general  good -for -nothingness. 
Men  may  associate,  and  waive  almost  all 
other  differences  but  that  of  character.  The 
moral  line  reaches  up  to  heaven  and  down 
vnto  eternal   depths.     It  cannot  be  passed 


48  FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS. 

and  repassed.  If  you  make  companions  of 
the  bad,  you  will  end  in  being  bad.  "  Live 
with  wolves,"  says  the  Spanish  proverb, 
"  and  you  will  learn  to  howl."  It  is  the 
beginning  of  a  tragedy  sad  beyond  thought 
when  a  young  man  enters  a  set  of  a  lower 
moral  tone  than  his  own,  —  the  set  that 
drinks  a  little,  and  gambles  a  little,  and 
discusses  female  frailty  a  little;  some  of 
whom  steal  a  little  from  their  employers 
on  the  score  of  a  small  salary,  and  drink  a 
little  more  than  the  rest  on  the  ground  of  a 
steadier  head,  and  affect  a  little  deeper 
knowledgce  of  the  world,  and  lie  with  less 
hesitation,  and  scoff  with  a  louder  accent : 
it  is  not  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  a  young 
man  cast  by  chance,  or  drawn  by  persua- 
sion, into  such  a  set  as  this.  Superiority 
of  mind  is  not  proof  against  it.  It  was  the 
wild  smuggler  boys  of  Kirkoswald  who  led 
Burns  astray. 

It  is  one  of  the  worst  features  of  modern 
society  that  such  sets  as  these  are  every- 
where taking  an  actual  organization  —  mem- 
bership and  rooms  and  fees.  Society,  from 
top  to  bottom,  is  running  to  clubs.  It  is 
a  matter  not  easily  disposed  of,  — having  a 
good  and  a  bad  side.  In  a  complex  stata 
of  society,  such  forms  of  social  life  will  b« 


FRIENDS  AND   COMPANIONS.  49 

created.  But  when  the  clubs  are  organized 
on  a  basis  of  drink  and  cards  and  "  a  good 
time  generally,"  there  is  little  question  as 
to  their  influence.  They  destroy  more  than 
moral  principles  ;  they  wreck  manhood  and 
health  and  high  purpose  and  self-respect. 
A  young  man  may  enter  sucli  a  club,  but 
no  man  comes  out  of  it.  Manhood  evap- 
orates under  this  organized  pressure  of  in- 
anity and  vice,  and  leaves  something  fitter 
to  creep  than  to  walk,  —  "  beastly  transfor- 
mations," who 

"  Nor  once  perceive  their  foul  disfigurement, 
But  boast  themselves  more  comely  than  before." 

But  let  us  get  over  to  the  positive  and 
better  side  of  our  subject.  I  make  as  a  last 
suggestion  that  you  associate  as  much  as 
possible  with  persons  of  true  worth  and  no- 
bility of  character.  The  main  use  of  a  gi-eat 
man  is  to  inspire  others.  There  is  a  truth 
parallel  to  the  doctrine  of  Apostolic  Suc- 
cession by  the  laying  on  of  hands,  which, 
to  my  mind,  is  better  than  the  doctrine. 
The  succession  of  all  high  and  noble  life  is 
through  personality.  Seek  always  the  su- 
perior man.  If  you  are  already  in  a  calling, 
get  amongst  those  who  excel  in  it.     Every 

professional  man  will  tell  you  that  he  can- 
4 


50  FRIENDS  AND  COMPANIONS. 

not  meet  one  of  low  grade  in  his  calling 
without  injury,  nor  one  high  up  without 
fresh  stimulus.  It  is  well  to  get  near  men 
of  reputed  energy  and  worth.  The  fasci- 
nation that  draws  us  to  the  great  is  deep 
and  divine  ;  it  is  a  call  to  share  their  great 
ness,  —  the  divine  way  of  distributing  it  to 
all.  Get  close  to  men  of  energy,  and  see 
how  they  work,  —  to  men  of  thought,  and 
catch  their  spirit  and  method ;  get  near  the 
refined  and  cultivated  in  mind  and  man- 
ners, and  feel  their  charm.  The  influence 
nearest  that  of  Omnipotence  upon  a  young 
man  is  that  of  a  noble,  intelligent,  refined 
woman  ;  not  one  who  may  become  his  wife, 
but  one  older  and  out  of  all  such  question. 
The  friendship  of  such  a  woman,  Steele  says, 
is  equal  to  a  liberal  education. 

But  if  you  are  cut  off  from  this  world  of 
inspiring  influence,  if  those  about  you  are 
dry  and  dull  and  commonplace,  seek  the 
companionship  you  need  in  books :  fellow- 
ship with  the  great  spirits  of  history;  dream 
with  the  poets  ;  think  with  the  philosophers  ; 
exult  with  martyrs  ;  triumph  with  heroes  ; 
overcome  with  saints.  Indeed,  books  are 
among  the  best  of  companions  ;  but  of  that 
hereafter. 


III. 

MANNERS. 


"  High  thoughts  seated  in  a  heart  of  courtesy."  —  Sidhet. 

"The  compliments  and  ceremonies  of  our  breeding  should 
recall,  however  remotely,  the  grandeur  of  our  destiny."  — 
Emekson. 

"  Love  as  brethren,  be  pitiful,  be  courteous."  —  St.  Paul. 

"  Who  misses  or  who  wins  the  prize  ? 
Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can ; 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise, 
Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman." 

Epilogue  to  Dr.  Birch  and  his  Pupilt, 


<r 


m. 

MANNERS. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  better  starting- 
point  in  tliis  subject  than  the  one  raost  re- 
mote from  its  real  centre,  —  our  national 
manners.  The  foreign  critics  tell  us  that 
we  are  rapidly  improving  in  our  behavior  ; 
we  are  too  conscious  of  the  need  to  resent 
the  patronizing  comment,  and  silently  wait 
for  the  sure  coming  of  that  type  of  man- 
ners—  higher  than  has  yet  been  realized  — 
when  our  institutions  have  fully  ripened  the 
character  of  the  people. 

In  the  externals  of  behavior  we  are  in 
advance  of  the  last  generation.  The  im- 
mense development  in  taste  and  art  that 
has  come  about  through  foreign  travel  and 
world-expositions  has  a  correspondence  in 
manners.  Uncouthness  of  dress,  roughness 
of  speech,  and  the  general  barbarity  of 
manners  that  prevailed  in  large  sections  of 
the  country  have  largely  passed  away.    The 


64  MANNERS. 

salutations,  respect  for  another's  personal- 
it}',  the  care  of  the  person,  the  tones  of  the 
voice,  and  the  use  of  hmguage,  —  all  are 
better  than  tbey  were.  Is  there  also  an 
improvement  of  feeling  and  mutual  rela- 
tion ?  The  external,  in  the  main,  is  indica- 
tive of  what  is  within.  Great  masses  of 
people  are  not  hypocrites.  The  kindlier 
address  shows  a  kinder  and  more  equal 
spirit.  The  deference  of  a  century  ago  was 
the  offspring  of  aristocracy ;  that,  indeed, 
has  passed  away  with  the  dying  out  of  its 
source.  But  if  we  no  longer  bow  do^vn  be- 
fore our  fellows,  we  entertain  for  them  a 
truer  and  more  rational  respect.  To  go  a 
little  closer  into  the  matter,  the  masses 
have  greatly  improved  in  maimers,  but  the 
class  that  used  to  be  regarded  as  aristo- 
cratic and  specially  well-bred  has  deterio- 
rated, as  was  to  be  expected.  The  with- 
drawal of  the  deference  of  the  lower  classes, 
as  our  institutions  began  to  be  felt,  threw 
them  into  confusion.  The  old-time  aristo- 
crat —  and  a  very  noble  figure  he  was  —  is 
consciously  out  of  place  and  relations ;  his 
manners  suffer  in  consequence,  and  now, 
like  Portia's  English  suitor,  he  "  gets  hi» 
behavior  everywhere." 


MANNERS.  65 

But  we  must  not  infer  that  we  are  yet 
a  people  of  refined  manners.  Dr.  Bush- 
nell,  forty  years  ago,  said  that  emigration 
tended  to  barbarism.  We  are  a  nation  of 
emigrants  ;  the  greater  part  of  us,  for  two 
hundred  years,  have  lived  in  the  woods,  and 
the  shadows  of  primeval  forests  still  over- 
hang us.  There  must  be  more  intelligence, 
more  culture,  a  more  evenly  distributed 
wealth,  a  denser  population,  and  a  fidler 
realization  of  our  national  idea,  which  is 
also  the  Christian  idea,  —  personality,  — 
before  we  can  claim  to  be  a  well-bred  peo- 
ple. In  Europe,  the  good  manners  of  the 
great  percolate  down  to  the  masses.  One 
consequently  hears  and  sees  there  a  deli- 
cacy of  behavior  and  gentleness  of  address 
not  common  here.  It  is,  however,  largely 
external  and  a  matter  of  imitation.  We 
have  few  such  outstanding  examples,  and 
whatever  of  attainment  we  have  is  genuine 
Jind  from  within.  We  are  destined  to  see 
Dn  this  continent  a  form  of  manners  more 
genuinely  refined  and  noble  than  the  world 
has  yet  known.  Just  now  we  are  in  an 
open  place  between  the  going  out  of  aris- 
tocratic or  feudal  habits  and  ways  and  the 
coming  in  of  a  culture  and  behavior  based 


56  MANNERS. 

on  equality  and  mutual  respect.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  we  are  without  great  con- 
spicuous examples  of  the  kind  of  gentleman 
that  is  to  be  looked  for  in  this  country. 
Washington  was  undoubtedly  a  very  true 
and  noble  gentleman ;  but  he  was  not  the 
American  gentleman  of  the  future,  being 
essentially  English.  With  certain  abate- 
ments and  additions  in  minor  respects,  Lin- 
coln must  be  regarded  as  coming  nearer  our 
true  type.  A  President  who  called  to  his 
cabinet  a  man  who  had  publicly  insulted 
him  by  use  of  the  most  opprobrious  epithet 
the  language  offers,  and  appointed  to  the 
chief-justiceship  another  who  spoke  of  him 
with  habitual  contempt,  showed  qualities  of 
character  that  we  find  in  no  other  great 
American. 

But  let  us  get  nearer  our  subject.  Every 
young  man  desires  above  all  else  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  gentleman.  None  of  us  can 
bear  any  other  imputation.  You  may  ac- 
cuse one  of  violating  the  entire  decalogue 
with  less  oifense  than  if  you  tell  him  he  is 
not  a  gentleman.  Here  is  something  vei7 
deep  and  weighty.  What  is  this  that  so 
outweighs  every  other  good  word  and  esti- 
Diate?      So    fine    a   thing   necessarily   has 


MANNERS.  67 

many  counterfeits ;  and  so  we  will  search  it 
with  definitions. 

The  word  undoubtedly  comes  from  the 
Latin  gens^  meaning  tribe  or  family.  Hence 
all  the  one-sided  and  incomplete  notions 
that  a  gentleman  is  a  man  of  family.  It  is 
a  good  thing  to  be  well  born,  with  inher- 
ited tastes  and  traditions  ;  but  birth  does 
not  make  the  gentleman.  It  is  unfortu- 
nate that,  etymologically,  the  word  does 
not  come  from  gentle  and  man.  The  world 
would  have  been  better  if  it  had  enter- 
tained such  a  conception  of  the  highest 
type  of  man,  for  the  epithet  nearly  covers 
the  whole  of  the  character.  Julius  Hare, 
himself  a  fine  illustration  of  his  definition, 
says:  "A  gentleman  should  be  gentle  in 
everything  ;  at  least  in  everything  that  de- 
pends upon  himself,  —  in  carriage,  temper, 
construction,  aims,  desires.  He  ought,  there- 
fore, to  be  mild,  calm,  quiet,  temperate ; 
not  hasty  in  judgment,  not  exorbitant  in 
ambition,  not  overbearing,  not  proud,  not 
rapacious,  not  oppressive."  Ruskin  makes 
the  leading  traits  of  a  gentleman  to  be  fine- 
ness, sensitiveness,  and  sympathy,  each  in- 
volving the  other.  Professor  Lieber,  who 
has  written  on  the  subject  in  a  manly  way, 


5j8  manners. 

says :  "  The  word  gentleman  signifies  that 
character  which  is  distinguished  by  strict 
honor,  self-possession,  forbearance,  generous 
as  well  as  refined  feelings,  and  polished  de- 
portment,—  a  character  to  which  all  mean- 
ness, explosive  irritability,  and  peevish  fret- 
fulness  are  alien  ;  to  which,  consequently,  a 
generous  candor,  scrupulous  veracity  and 
essential  truthfulness,  courage,  both  moral 
and  physical,  dignity  and  self-respect,  liber- 
ality in  thought,  argument,  and  conduct  are 
habitual,  and  have  become  natural.  It  im- 
plies also  refinement  of  feelings  and  lofti- 
ness of  conduct  to  the  dictates  of  morality 
and  the  precepts  of  religion,  —  a  long,  hard 
sentence,  but  well  worth  our  study."  Mr. 
Calvert  says :  "  The  gentleman  is  never  un- 
duly familiar ;  takes  no  liberties  ;  is  chary 
of  questions ;  is  neither  artificial  nor  af- 
fected ;  is  as  little  obtrusive  upon  the  mind 
or  feelings  of  others  as  on  their  persons ; 
bears  himself  tenderly  towards  the  weak 
and  unprotected ;  is  not  arrogant ;  cannot 
be  supercilious;  can  be  self-denying  without 
Bti'uggle ;  is  not  vain  of  his  advantages,  ex- 
trinsic personal  ;  habitually  subordinates 
his  lower  to  his  higher  self  ;  is,  in  his  best 
condition,  electric  with  truth,  buoyant  with 


veracity."  Mr.  Emerson,  who  writes  on 
the  theme  with  keenest  inward  sympathy, 
as  well  as  discrimination,  says :  "  The  gen- 
tleman is  a  man  of  truth,  lord  of  his  own 
actions,  and  expressing  that  lordship  in  his 
behavior ;  not  in  any  manner  dependent  and 
servile  either  on  persons,  or  opinions,  or 
possessions.  Beyond  this  fact  of  truth 
and  real  force,  the  word  denotes  good  nat- 
ure or  benevolence,  —  manhood  first,  and 
then  gentleness."  Sir  Philip  Sidney  — 
himself  the  ideal  gentleman  —  put  the  whole 
matter  into  one  pregnant  phrase :  "  High 
thoughts  seated  in  a  heart  of  courtesy." 
You  will  notice  that  in  the  conception  of  a 
gentleman  which  these  authors  give  the 
moral  element  predominates;  not  family, 
or  station,  or  manners,  but  qualities.  They 
do,  indeed,  take  on  and  draw  after  them 
external  forms,  for  the  in  and  the  out  must 
at  last  be  alike ;  but  the  essential  condition, 
that  which  makes  one  a  gentleman,  is  moral 
qualities. 

Following  this  unanimous  hint,  we  will 
try  to  get  these  qualities  into  some  order. 
We  name,  — 

1.  Truth.  One  who  well  knew  described 
»  perfect  man  as  one  who  "speaketh  the 


60  MANNERS. 

truth  in  his  heart,"  —  inward  truthfulness, 
outward  veracity ;  this  goes  before  all  else 
in  making  up  the  gentleman.  Calvert  says : 
"A  gentleman  may  brush  his  own  shoes  or 
clothes,  or  mend  or  make  them,  or  roughen 
his  hands  with  the  helve,  or  foul  them  with 
dye-work  or  iron-work  ;  but  he  must  not 
foul  his  mouth  with  a  lie."  A  lie  makes 
relations  impossible.  When  two  persons 
meet,  there  can  be  no  true  conversation  un- 
less it  is  thoroughly  understood  that  each 
is  himself :  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you  ;  I  say 
what  is  true,  and  I  believe  that  you  say 
what  is  true.  This  is  the  foundation  of  all 
human  intercourse.  Nor  can  a  man  lonir  be 
himself  who  does  not  speak  the  truth.  He 
duplicates  and  reduplijates  himself,  loses 
all  sense  of  personality,  and  becomes  a  mere 
phenomenon,  flickering  amongst  men  with 
a  false  light,  trusted  by  none,  and  at  last 
is  lost  even  to  himself;  for  a  liar  linuUy 
ceases  to  believe  himself  ;  his  memory, 
judgment,  and  even  senses  fail  to  bring  him 
true  reports.  There  is  no  girdle  that  will 
hold  a  man  together  and  make  him  a  per- 
son but  the  truth.  And  so  it  enters  funda- 
inentally  into  the  highest  type  of  personal 
character.     Amongst   those  who  wear   the 


MANNERS.  61 

title  of  gentleman,  it  takes  precedence  of 
all  else,  even  kingly  dignity.  Charles  I. 
said  to  the  Commoners,  "  You  have  not  only 
the  word  of  a  king,  but  of  a  gentleman." 
When  Nicholas  of  Russia  desired  to  assure 
the  English  ambassador  that  he  was  speak- 
ing the  truth,  he  said,  "  I  desire  to  speak 
witli  you  as  a  gentleman."  The  reason  that 
some  occupations  traditionally  exclude  those 
following  them  from  the  rank  of  gentlemen 
is  because  they  foster  lying.  In  certain 
forms  of  trade,  where  the  values  are  un- 
known, or  variable,  or  obscure,  the  tempta- 
tion to  lie  is  so  strong  that  it  becomes  nearly 
universal,  and  those  following  such  callings 
are  presumed  to  be  unworthy  of  the  society 
of  gentlemen.  Trutlifulness  is  the  chastity 
of  men  ;  when  once  sacrificed,  caste  is  for- 
ever lost.  A  gentleman  not  only  speaks  the 
truth,  but  is  truthful.  "  He  never  dodges," 
says  Emerson.  He  looks  squarely  at  person 
or  thing,  because  he  proposes  to  see  things 
?ind  persons  as  they  are.  And  being  attuned 
to  truth  within,  his  voice  will  have  the  pitch 
9f  truth  ;  the  very  poise  of  his  bod}^  and 
Bway  of  his  members  will  have  a  certain 
directness  born  of  truth.  We  name,  — 
2.   Kindness   of  heart,  —  "  The  willing. 


62  MANNERS. 

ness  and  faculty  to  oblige,"  Emerson  calls 
it.  If  one  have  not  this,  he  may  step  aside. 
If  truth  is  the  foundation  of  good  manners, 
kindness  is  the  superstructure,  —  that  which 
most  appears  and  constitutes  them.  The 
phraseology  of  refined  society  is  expressive 
of  love  and  interest.  We  begin  letters  with 
a  term  of  endearment,  and  we  used  to  end 
them  with  an  assurance  of  humble  service. 
Those  "were  fine  old  every-day  words,  — now 
used  too  little,  —  "I  am  at  your  service," 
*'  What  are  your  commands  ?  "  The  gen- 
tleman exists  to  help  ;  he  has  no  other  voca- 
tion. If  you  desire  to  cultivate  yourselves 
in  this  matter,  let  your  husbandry  be  in  this 
direction.  A  spirit  of  universal  good-will, 
a  generous  heart,  and  an  open  hand,  —  be 
strong  in  these,  and  you  may  claim  this 
badge  of  highest  nobility.  But  if  you  are 
exclusive,  if  you  lack  heart,  if  your  hand  is 
kept  closed  except  when  pried  open  by 
shame  or  stout  appeal,  if  you  go  about  in  a 
spirit  of  caution  and  reserve  and  secret  dis- 
dain of  all  but  your  set,  you  are  out  of  our 
high  category  ;  neither  money,  birth,  nor 
sleekness  can  smuggle  you  in.  The  immense 
mistake  in  this  matter  is  tliat  the  tokens  of 
§ood-will  are  made  partial   and    exclusive 


MANNERS.  63 

There  are  enough  to  love  and  hel^  their 
own,  but  such  consideration  gives  no  true 
title  to  the  rank  of  gentleman.  It  is  the 
very  essence  of  gentlemanhood  that  one  is 
helpful  to  the  weak,  the  poor,  the  friend- 
less, the  humble,  the  miserable,  the  de- 
graded. A  gentleman  will  not  be  too  cau- 
tious where  he  bestows  his  favors.  The 
economists  preach  against  street  beggars, 
but  your  Charles  Lamb  cannot  be  kept 
from  dropping  frequent  pennies  into  their 
hats.  He  is  not  too  critical  of  the  testi- 
monials of  the  shipwrecked  sailor,  and  he 
sees  the  wan  face  and  rags  of  poverty  more 
than  he  listens  to  its  improbable  tale.  He 
does  not  mind  whose  bundle  he  carries,  if  so 
he  relieves  some  aching  arm ;  nor  how  low 
the  door-way  he  enters,  if  he  can  carry  cheer 
across  the  threshold. 

(3.)  If  truth  is  the  foundation  and  kind- 
ness is  the  superstructure  of  the  gentleman, 
honor  is  his  atmosphere,  —  a  hard  thing  to 
define,  but  a  very  real  thing  as  we  see  it,  or 
the  lack  of  it.  It  is  akin  to  truth,  but  is 
more,  —  its  aroma,  its  flower,  its  soul.  It  is 
that  which  makes  a  gentleman's  word  aa 
good  as  his  bond.  We  get  its  exact  mean- 
jig  when  it  is  used  in  connection  with  fe- 


64  MANNERS. 

male  virtue.  It  may  be  defined  as  an  exqui- 
site and  imperative  self-respect.  Honor  is 
an  absolute  and  ultimate  thing.  It  knows 
nothing  of  abatement,  or  change,  or  degree. 
It  governs  with  a  noble  and  inexorable  ne- 
cessity. The  man  of  honor  dies  sooner  than 
break  its  lightest  behest.  To  those  who  do 
not  know  it  it  is  less  than  the  summer 
cloud  ;  to  those  who  have  it  adamant  is  not 
80  solid.  The  man  of  honor  may  be  trusted 
to  the  uttermost ;  he  does  not  know  tempta- 
tion. It  is  a  mail  that  prevents  even  the 
aiming  of  arrows.  Charles  Sumner  thought 
there  was  but  little  bribery  in  Washington  ; 
he  had  never  seen  anything  of  it.  The 
man  of  honor  has  no  price.  Mr.  Smiles,  in 
one  of  his  admirable  books,  says  that  Wel- 
lington was  once  offered  half  a  million  for  a 
state  secret  not  of  any  special  value  to  the 
government,  but  the  keeping  of  which  was 
a  matter  of  honor.  "  It  appears  you  are  ca- 
cable  of  keeping  a  secret,"  he  said  to  the 
official.  "Certainly,"  he  replied.  "Then  so 
am  I,"  said  the  general,  and  bowed  him  out. 
Honor  is  offended  even  at  the  thought  of 
its  violation.    It  is  the  poetry  of  noble  man 

bood, — 

"  That  away, 
Men  are  but  gilded  loam  or  painted  clay." 


MANNERS.  66 

Dnhappy  is  he  who  comes  to  years  of  man- 
hood and  finds  it  weak  and  dull ;  unhap- 
pier  still  is  he  who  has  lost  it  by  some  de- 
liberate act.  He  can  never  again  be  quite 
the  same  man.  Tarnished  honor  in  man 
or  woman  is  the  one  stain  that  cannot  be 
washed  out.  The  best  word  upon  it  in  all 
literature,  I  think,  is  in  that  fine  poem  of 
Burns's,  "  Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend  :  "  — 

"  But  where  ye  feel  your  honor  grip. 

Let  that  aye  be  your  border; 
Its  slightest  touches,  instant  pause ; 

Debar  a'  side  pretences, 
And  resolutely-  keep  its  laws. 

Uncaring  consequences." 

(4.)  We  put  next  delicacy ^  —  fineness  of 
fibre.  It  is  made  up  of  quick  perception 
and  fine  feeling.  It  leads  one  to  see  in- 
stantly the  line  beyond  which  he  may  not 
go  ;  to  detect  the  boundary  between  friend- 
liness and  familiarity,  between  earnestness 
and  heat,  between  sincerity  and  intolerance 
in  pressing  your  convictions,  between  style 
and  fussiness,  between  deference  and  its  ex- 
cess. It  is  the  critic  and  mentor  of  the 
gentlemanly  character.  It  tells  him  what 
is  coarse  and  unseemly  and  rude  and  ex- 
cessive. It  warns  him  away  from  all  doubt- 
ful acts  and  persons.     It  gives  little  or  no 


66  MANNERS. 

reason,  —  it  is  too  fine  for  analysis  and  log- 
ical process,  —  but  acts  like  a  divine  in- 
stinct, and  is  to  be  heeded  as  divine.  A 
man  may  be  good  without  it,  but  he  will 
lack  a  nameless  grace ;  he  will  fail  of  high- 
est respect ;  he  will  miss  the  best  compan- 
ionship ;  he  will  make  blunders  that  hurt 
him  without  his  knowing  why;  he  will  feel 
a  reproach  that  he  cannot  understand.  It 
is  this  quality  more  than  any  other  that 
draws  the  line  in  all  rational  society.  Men 
often  wonder  why  they  are  shut  out  of  cer- 
tain grades  of  society ;  they  are  well  dressed, 
intelligent,  moral,  rich,  amiable,  —  still  the 
door  is  shut.  Let  them,  if  they  can,  meas- 
ure their  jihre^  and  they  will  usually  get  at 
the  cause.  It  is  this  quality  that  decides 
matters  of  dress,  the  length  and  frequency 
of  visits ;  that  discriminates  between  the 
shadow  and  substance  in  all  matters  of  eti- 
quette. It  determines  the  nature  and  num- 
ber of  questions  one  may  ask  of  another, 
and  sees  everywhere  and  always  the  invisi- 
ble boundary  that  invests  personality. 

(5.)  I  name  next  respect  and  consider^ 
ation  for  others^  —  something  more  than 
kindness  and  less  ethereal  than  delicacy,  but 
entering  quite  as  largely  and  imperatively 


MANNERS.  67 

into  the  every-day  life  of  the  gentleman. 
You  perceive  at  once  that  it  is  of  the  very 
nature  of  our  faith,  —  not  self,  but  another. 
To  consider  tenderly  the  feelings,  opinions, 
circumstances,  of  others,  —  what  is  this  but 
Christian  ? 

There  is  one  respect  in  -which  our  An- 
glo-Saxon race  —  especially  when  the  Nor- 
man strain  is  thin  —  is  simply  brutal  in  its 
manners,  namely,  its  treatment  of  the  lu- 
dicrous when  it  involves  pain.     A  person, 
old  or  young,  on  sitting  down,  misses  the 
chair  and  comes  to  the  floor,  and  the  room 
screams  with  laughter.  What  could  be  more 
essentially  cruel  and  barbarous  ?     A  public 
speaker  stammers,  and  the  audience  giggles. 
They  would  be  kinder,  he  thinks,  if  they 
would  pelt   him  with  the   foot-stools.     A 
mistake,   a  peculiarity,  an   accident,  often 
involves  a  ludicrous  element,  but  it  is  well 
to  remember  that  a  sense  of  the  ludicrous 
is  not  the  loftiest  of  emotions.     The  simple 
question  in  such  cases  is  not,  How  does  the 
looker-on  feel  ?  but.  How  does  the  other  per- 
son feel  ?     If  there  were  a  litany  of  good 
manners,  it  might  well   begin,   From  gig- 
gling, good   Lord,  deliver   us.     The  word 
vulgar   will   not   often  be  found  on   these 


68  MANNERS. 

pages,  but  we  would  like  to  gather  up  all 
the  meaning  and  emphasis  lodged  in  it 
jind  pour  them  upon  this  habit  of  inconsid- 
erate laughter  at  the  misfortunes  of  others. 
Let  us  hasten  to  the  pleasanter  side  of  our 
subject.  The  great  historical  illustration 
of  this  grace  of  consideration,  never  to  be 
passed  by,  is  that  of  Sidney,  at  the  battle 
of  Zutphen,  handing  the  cup  of  water,  for 
which  he  longed  with  dying  thirst,  to  the 
wounded  soldier  beside  him  :  "  He  needs  it 
more  than  I." 

"  How  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams  I  " 

Like  it  is  the  incident  of  Sir  Ralph  Ab- 
ercrombie, — told  by  Smiles, —  who,  when 
mortally  wounded,  found  under  his  head  the 
blanket  of  a  private  soldier,  placed  there 
to  ease  his  dying  pains.  "  Whose  blanket 
is  this?"  "Duncan  Roy's."  "See  that 
Duncan  Roy  gets  his  blanket  this  very 
night,"  said  Sir  Ralph,  and  died  without 
its  comfort.  Smiles  gives  another  fine  in- 
stance of  this  divine  grace,  all  the  better 
from  its  spontaneity.  Two  English  nav- 
vies in  Paris  saw,  one  rainy  day,  a  hearse, 
with  its  burden,  winding  along  the  streets, 
unattended   by  a  single  mourner.     Falling 


MANNERS.  69 

in  behind,  they  followed  it  to  the  ceme- 
tery. It  was  only  sentiment,  but  it  was 
fine  and  true.  Such  sentiment  leads  a  cap- 
tain to  go  down  with  his  ship ;  the  fire- 
man to  pass  through  flame;  the  soldier  to 
go  on  the  forlorn  hope.  When  spontaneous, 
it  shows  that  our  nature  is  sound  at  the 
core  ;  when  wrought  into  a  conscious  habit 
it  reveals  the  divine  glory  that  every  life 
may  take  on. 

One  imbued  with  this  high  quality  never 
sees  personal  deformity  or  blemish.  A  lame 
man  could  easily  classify  his  friends  as  to 
their  breeding  by  drawing  a  line  between 
those  who  ask  Jioiv  it  liajypened  and  those 
who  refrain  from  all  question.  I  say  dis 
tinctly,  the  gentleman  never  sees  deform 
ity.  He  will  not  talk  to  a  beggar  of  his 
rags,  nor  boast  of  his  health  before  the  sick, 
nor  speak  of  his  wealth  amongst  the  poor ; 
he  will  not  seem  to  be  fortunate  amonsfst 
the  hapless,  nor  make  any  show  of  his  vir- 
iue  before  the  vicious.  He  will  avoid  all 
painful  contrast,  always  looking  at  the  thing 
in  question  from  the  stand-point  of  the  other 
person. 

The  gentleman  is  largely  dowered  with 
forbearance.     The   preacher  will   not  dog- 


70  MANNERS. 

matize  nor  indulge  in  personality  since  his 
audience  lias  no  chance  to  reply.  The  law- 
yer will  not  browbeat  the  witness  —  no,  not 
even  to  win  his  case  —  if  he  is  a  gentleman. 
The  physician  is  as  delicate  as  purity  itself, 
and  as  secretive  as  the  grave.  There  is  no 
finer  touch-stone  of  the  gentleman  than 
the  forbearing  use  of  power  or  advantage 
over  another :  the  employer  to  his  men,  the 
husband  to  his  wife,  the  creditor  to  his 
debtor,  the  rich  to  the  poor,  the  educated 
to  the  ignorant,  the  teacher  to  pupils,  the 
prosperous  to  the  unfortunate. 

"  Oh,  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength ;  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant." 

(6.)  How  far  are  manners  to  be  made  a 
matter  of  rule  ?  is  a  question  you  will  inev- 
itably ask.  From  within  out  —  is  the  fun- 
damental law  in  manners  ;  still  there  is  an 
external  view  of  the  subject  quite  worth 
heeding. 

There  is  a  certain  fine  robustness  of  char- 
acter that  is  prone  to  pay  little  heed  to  the 
"  thou  shalt  "  and  "  thou  shalt  not  "  of  so- 
ciety ;  and  there  is  a  certain  spirituality 
that  says,  "  Make  your  own  rules."  There 
IS  much  truth  in  both  positions,  but  it  is 


MANNERS.  71 

delicate  ground  to  tread  on ;  one  needs  to 
be  very  sure-footed  and  quick-eyed  to  avoid 
falls.  Upon  the  whole,  and  for  the  most  of 
us,  it  is  better  there  should  be  a  code  of  so- 
cial laws,  well  understood  and  rather  care- 
fully observed  ;  at  least,  one  should  always 
have  them  at  hand,  ready  for  use.  There 
are  many  things  that  help  to  make  life  easy 
and  agreeable  that  are  not  taught  by  intui- 
tion. Nor  could  we  live  together  in  mutual 
convenience  unless  we  agreed  upon  certain 
arbitrary  rules  as  to  daily  intercourse.  If 
it  is  well  to  have  these  common  habits  and 
interchanges  of  courtesy,  it  is  well  to  have 
them  in  the  best  form,  even  to  punctilious- 
ness. Without  doubt,  what  are  called  the 
manners  of  society  are  not  only  a  part  of 
gentlemanhood,  but  are  extremely  conven- 
ient. I  am  not  about  to  indicate  these 
rules,  but  I  may  suggest  that  in  all  matters 
of  dress,  of  care  of  the  person,  of  carriage, 
-)i  command  of  the  features  and  voice  and 
eyes,  and  of  what  are  called  the  ways  of 
good  society,  it  is  of  great  use  to  be  well  in- 
formed. They  will  not  take  you  one  step 
on  the  way,  but  they  will  smooth  it,  and 
the  lack  of  them  may  block  it  altogether. 
The  main  dependence  must  be  on  the  things 


72  MANNERS. 

we  have  considered.  If  one  is  centrally 
true,  kind,  honorable,  delicate,  and  consid- 
erate, he  will  almost  without  fail  have  man- 
ners that  will  take  him  into  any  circle 
where  culture  and  taste  prevail  over  folly. 
Still,  this  inward  seed  needs  training.  It 
should  levy  on  all  graceful  forms,  on  prac- 
tice and  discipline,  on  observation,  on  fash- 
ion even,  and  make  them  subserve  its  native 
grace.  Watch  those  of  excellent  reputation 
in  manners.  Keep  your  eyes  open  when 
you  go  to  the  metropolis,  and  learn  its  grace; 
or,  if  you  live  in  the  city,  when  you  go  to 
the  country,  mark  the  higher  quality  of 
simplicity.  Catch  the  temper  of  the  great 
masters  of  literature  :  the  nobility  of  Scott, 
the  sincerity  of  Thackeray,  the  heartiness  of 
Dickens,  the  tenderness  of  MacDonald,  the 
delicacy  of  Tennyson,  the  grace  of  Long- 
fellow, the  repose  of  Shakespeare. 

Manners  in  this  high  sense,  and  so 
learned,  take  one  far  on  in  the  world. 
They  are  irresistible.  If  you  meet  the 
king  he  will  recognize  you  as  a  brother. 
They  are  a  defense  against  insult.  All 
doors  fly  open  when  he  who  wears  them 
approaches.  They  cannot  be  bought 
They  cannot  be   learned  as  from  a  book 


MANNERS.  73 

they  cannot  pass  from  lip  to  lip  ;  they  come 
from  within,  and  from  a  within  that  is 
grounded  in  truth,  honor,  delicacy,  kind- 
ness, and  consideration. 

These  pages  may  fall  under  the  eyes  of 
some  readers  along  with  the  Christmas-tide. 
No  theme  is  more  appropriate  to  it.  The 
spirit  of  these  days  is  alive  with  tenderest 
courtesy.  A  gentleman  can  have  no  better 
watchword  than  that  sung  at  Bethlehem: 
"  Peace  on  earth,  good- will  to  men." 

"  Come  vrealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 
Let  old  and  young  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  awful  will. 
And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart. 

"  Who  misses  or  who  wins  the  prize  ? 
Go,  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can  ; 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise, 
Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 

"  A  gentleman,  or  old  or  young ! 

(Bear  kindly  with  my  humble  lay.) 
The  sacred  chorus  first  was  sung 
Upon  the  first  of  Christmas  days ; 

"  The  shepherds  heard  it  overhead. 
The  joyful  angels  raised  it  then : 
Glory  to  God  on  high,  it  said, 
And  peace  on  earth  to  gentle  —  men."  * 

^1  Epilogue  to  Dr.  Birch  and  his  Young  Friendt, 


IV. 

THRIFT. 


Economy,  whether  public  or  private,  means  the  wiw 
management  of  labor;  and  it  means  it  mainly  in  three  senses: 
namely,  first,  applying  yoor  labor  rationally ;  secondly,  pre- 
terving  its  produce  carefully;  lastly,  distributing  its  produce 
seasonably."  —  Ruskin. 

"  In  the  morning  sow  thy  seed,  and  in  the  evening  withhold 
not  thy  hand ;  for  thou  knowest  not  whether  shall  prosper, 
either  this  or  that,  or  whether  they  shall  be  alike  good."  — 

SOLOMOW. 

"  The  virtues  are  economists."  —  Emerson. 

"  No  man  can  guage  the  value,  at  this  present  critical  time, 
of  a  steady  stream  of  young  men,  flowing  into  all  profes- 
sions and  all  industries,  who  have  learned  resolutely  to  speak 
J  a  society  such  as  ours  :  '  I  can't  afford.'  "  —  Tacn-kx 

HOOHKS. 


IV. 

THEIPT. 

We  have  so  long  been  told  that  we  are  a 
thrifty  people  that  we  go  on  assuming  it  as 
a  fact  without  fresh  examination.  Thrift  is 
more  apt  to  be  a  phase  than  a  characteristic 
of  the  life  of  a  nation,  —  a  habit  than  a  prin- 
ciple. That  we  are  thrifty  because  our  an- 
cestors were  no  more  follows  than  that  the 
ship  that  sails  out  of  the  harbor  stanch 
and  tight  will  be  sound  when  she  returns 
from  a  long  and  stormy  voj^age.  It  was  not 
from  any  instinct  or  natural  trait  that  our 
forefathers  were  thrifty,  but  from  a  moral 
necessity.  The  Celt  is  naturally  thrifty. 
The  Anglo-Saxon  is  thrifty  only  when  there 
is  some  strong  motive  behind  or  before  him; 
be  is  thrifty  for  a  reason ;  and  this  certainly 
is  the  best  foundation  of  the  virtue.  The 
early  settlers  found  themselves  here  in  cir- 
cumstances out  of  keeping  with  their  char- 
acters,—  rich  in  one  and  poor  in  the  other, 


78  THRIFT. 

and  so  set  about  overcoming  the  discrepancy. 
Their  large  and  noble  conceptions  of  man 
required  that  he  should  be  well  housed  and 
eared  for.  Dr.  Holmes  saj's  :  "  I  never  saw 
a  house  too  fuie  to  shelter  the  human  head. 
Elegance  fits  man."  When  Nero  built  his 
palace  of  marble  and  ivory  and  gold,  he 
said,  "  This  is  a  fit  house  for  a  man."  The 
scientists  tell  us  that  environment  and  life 
stand  in  a  relation  of  necessity ;  they  cer- 
tainly stand  in  the  relation  of  fitness.  The 
strong,  divinely  nourished  common  sense  of 
our  fathers  perceived  this,  and  they  hus- 
banded as  earnestly  as  they  prayed.  They 
could  give  up  all  for  a  cause,  and  take  no 
thought  for  the  morrow,  if  the  occasion  re- 
quired, but  they  knew  how  to  discriminate 
between  the  rare  occasion  of  total  self-sacri- 
fice and  the  conduct  of  every-day  life.  Con- 
sequently thrift  early  got  a  strong  hold/ 
New  England  has  had  two  great  inspiring 
minds,  —  Jonathan  Edwards  and  Benjamin 
Franklin.  Ear  apart  in  spirit  and  charac- 
ter, they  formed  a  grand  unity  in  their  in- 
flucnce.  One  taught  religion,  the  other 
thrift ;  one  clarified  theology,  the  other 
taught  the  people  how  to  get  on.  Edwarda 
tided  New  England  over  the  infidelity  that 


THRIFT.  79 

prevailed  in  the  last  century ;  Franklin 
created  the  wealth  that  feeds  society  to-day 
by  inspiring  a  passion  for  thrift.  Hence, 
for  a  century,  irreligion  and  beggary  were 
equally  a  reproach,  and  still  in  no  country 
in  the  world  is  the  latter  held  so  vile. 

But  these  two  formative  influences  are 
evidently  waning.  Nor  is  it  to  be  altogether 
regretted.  Both  were  too  austere  to  be  per- 
petually healthful ;  neither  regarded  the 
breadth  and  scope  of  human  nature.  The 
danger  is  lest  the  ebb  be  excessive,  and  its 
method  be  exchanged  for  others  not  so  sure 
and  wholesome.  (Thrift  pertains  to  details. 
It  is  alike  our  glory  and  our  fault  that  we 
are  impatient  of  details.  Our  courage 
prompts  to  risks,  our  large-mindedness  in- 
vites to  great  undertakings ;  both  some- 
what adverse  to  thrift,  —  one  essentially, 
and  the  other  practically,  —  because  great 
undertakings  are  for  the  few,  while  thrift 
is  for  all.  Large  enterprises  make  the  few- 
rich,  but  the  majority  prosper  only  through 
the  carefulness  and  detail  of  thrift.  To 
Bpeak  of  it  is  a  Scylla  and  Charybdis  voy- 
age,—  while  shunning  the  jaws  of  waste, 
there  is  danger  of  drifting  upon  the  rocks 
'A  meanness.     I  say  frankly,  if  either  fate 


80  THRIFT. 

is  to  befall  us,  I  would  rather  it  were  not 
the  last.   J 

I  begin'  by  insisting  on  the  importance  of 
having  money.  Speculate  and  preach  about 
it  as  we  will,  the  great  factor  in  society  is 
money.  As  the  universe  of  worlds  needs 
some  common  force  like  gravitation  to  hold 
them  together  and  keep  them  apart,  so  so- 
ciety requires  some  dominating  passion  or 
purpose  to  hold  its  members  in  mutual  re- 
lations. Money  answers  this  end.  With- 
out some  such  general  purpose  or  passion, 
society  would  be  chaotic;  men  could  not 
work  together,  could  achieve  no  common 
results,  could  have  no  common  standards 
of  virtue  and  attainment.  Bulwer  says : 
"  Never  treat  money  aifairs  with  levity ; 
money  is  character."  And  indeed  character 
for  the  most  part  is  determined  by  one's  re- 
lation to  money.  Find  out  how  one  gets, 
saves,  spends,  gives,  lends,  borrows,  and  be- 
queathes money,  and  you  have  the  charac- 
ter of  the  man  in  full  outline.  "  If  one 
does  all  these  wisely,"  says  Henry  Tay- 
lor, "  it  would  almost  argue  a  perfect 
man."  Nearly  all  the  virtues  play  about 
the  use  of  money,  —  honesty,  justice,  gen 
erosity,  charity,  frugality,  forethought,  self 


THRIFT.  81 

sacrifice.  The  poor  man  is  called  to  cer- 
tain great  and  strenuous  virtues,  but  he  has 
not  the  full  field  of  conduct  open  to  him  as 
it  is  to  the  man  of  wealth.  He  may  under- 
go a  very  deep  and  valuable  discipline,  but 
he  will  not  get  the  full  training  that  a  rich 
man  may.  St.  Paul  compassed  the  matter 
in  knowing  how  to  abound  as  well  as  how 
to  suffer  want.  Poverty  is  a  limitation  all 
the  way  through ;  it  is  good  only  as  in  all 
evil  there  is  "a  soul  of  goodness."  Mr. 
Jarvis  says,  "  Among  the  poor  there  is 
less  vital  force,  a  lower  tone  of  life,  more  ill 
health,  more  weakness,  more  early  death." 
If  poverty  is  our  lot,  we  must  bear  it  brave- 
ly, and  contend  against  its  chilling  and  sti- 
fling influences ;  but  we  are  not  to  think  of 
it  as  good,  or  in  any  way  except  as  some- 
thing to  be  avoided  or  gotten  rid  of,  if  honor 
and  honesty  permit  it.  I  wish  I  could  fill 
every  young  man  who  reads  these  pages 
with  an  utter  dread  and  horror  of  poverty. 
I  wish  I  could  make  you  so  feel  its  shame, 
its  constraint,  its  bitterness,  that  you  would 
make  vows  against  it.  You  would  then 
read  patiently  what  I  shall  say  of  thrift. 
You  may  already  have  a  sufficiently  ill 
opinion  of  poverty,  but  you  may  not  un- 


82  THRIFT. 

derstand  that  one  is  already  poverty-stricken 
if  his  habits  are  not  thrifty.  Every  day  1 
see  young  men  —  well  dressed,  with  full 
purses  and  something  of  inheritance  await- 
ing them  —  as  plainly  foredoomed  to  pov- 
erty as  if  its  rags  hung  about  them. 
1  The  secret  of  thrift  is  forethought.  Its 
process  is  saving  for  use ;  it  involves  also 
judicious  spending.  The  thrifty  man  saves: 
savings  require  investments  in  stable  and 
remunerative  forms ;  hence  that  order  and 
condition  of  things  that  we  call  civilization, 
which  does  not  exist  until  one  generation 
passes  on  the  results  of  its  labors  and  sav- 
ings to  the  next.  Thus  thrift  underlies 
civilization  as  well  as  personal  prosperity. 
The  moment  it  ceases  to  act  society  ret- 
rogrades towards  savagery,  the  main  feat- 
ure of  which  is  absence  of  forethought.  A 
spendthrift  or  idler  is  essentially  a  savage  : 
a  generation  of  them  would  throw  society 
back  into  barbarism.  iThere  is  a  large  num- 
ber of  young  men  —  chiefly  to  be  found  in 
cities  —  who  rise  from  their  beds  at  eleven 
:)r  twelve  ;  breakfast  in  a  club-house  ;  idle 
away  the  afternoon  in  walking  or  driving; 
ipend  a  part  of  the  evening  with  their  fam« 
iliea,  th(5  rest  at  some  place  of  amusement 


THRIFT.  83 

or  in  meeting  the  engagements  of  society, 
bringing  up  at  the  club-house  or  some  gam- 
bling den  or  place  of  worse  repute ;  and 
early  in  the  morning  betake  themselves  to 
bed  again.  They  do  no  work ;  they  read 
but  little;  they  have  no  religion  ;  they  are 
as  a  class  vicious.  I  depict  them  simply  to 
classify  them.  These  men  are  essentially 
savages.  Except  in  some  slight  matters  of 
taste  and  custom,  they  are  precisely  the  in- 
dividuals Stanley  found  in  Central  Africa, 
with  some  advantages  in  favor  of  the  Afri- 
can. Some  years  ago,  Mr.  Buckle  startled 
the  reading  world  by  putting  the  Roman 
Catholics  of  Spain  and  the  high  Calvinists 
of  Scotland  in  the  same  class,  as  alike  in 
the  generic  trait  of  bigotry,  though  differ- 
ing in  matters  of  belief.  Precisely  in  the 
same  way,  and  with  the  same  logical  cor- 
rectness, these  idlers  are  to  be  put  in  the 
same  category  with  savages.  They  live  un- 
der the  fundamental  characteristic  of  sav- 
agery, namely,  improvidence.  Our  young 
man  of  leisure  has  a  rich  father,  and  the 
African  has  his  perennial  banana,  and,  upon 
the  whole,  rather  a  surer  outlook. 
\  The  chief  distinction  between  civiliza- 
\on  and  barbarism  turns  on  thrift.     Thrift 


84:  THRIFT. 

is  the  builder  of  society.      Thrift  redeems 
man  from  savagery.        j 

What  are  its  method^? 

(1.)  I  name  the  first  in  one  word,  —  save. 
Thrift  has  no  rule  so  imperative  and  with- 
out exception.  If  you  have  an  allowance, 
teach  yourself  on  no  account  to  exhaust  it. 
The  margin  between  income  and  expendi- 
ture is  sacred  ground,  and  must  not  be 
touched  except  for  weightiest  reasons.  But 
if  you  are  earning  a  salar}',  —  it  matters 
not  how  small,  —  plan  to  save  some  part  of 
it.  If  you  receive  seventy-five  cents  per 
day,  live  on  seventy;  if  one  dollar,  spend 
but  ninety ;  you  save  thirty  dollars  a  year, 
—  enough  to  put  you  into  the  category  of 
civilization.  But  he  who  spends  all  must 
not  complain  if  we  set  him  down  logically 
a  savage.  Your  saving  is  but  little,  but  it 
represents  a  feeling  and  a  purpose,  and, 
small  as  it  is,  it  divides  a  true  from  a  spu- 
rious manhood. 

Life  in  its  last  analysis  is  a  struggle. 
The  main  question  for  us  all  is.  Which  is 
getting  the  advantage,  self  or  the  world  ? 
When  one  is  simply  holding  his  own, 
spending  all  he  earns,  and  has  nothing  be- 
tween himself  and  this  "  rough  world,"  he 


THRIFT.  85 

in  a  fair  way  to  be  worsted  in  the  battle. 
He  inevitably  grows  weaker,  while  the  piti- 
less world  keeps  to  its  pitch  of  heavy  exac- 
tion. 

There  is  a  sense  of  strength  and  advan- 
tage springing  from  however  slight  gains 
essential  to  manly  character.  Say  what 
we  will  about  "  honest  poverty,"  —  and  I 
would  say  nothing  against  it,  for  I  well 
know  that  God  may  build  barriers  of  pov- 
erty about  a  man,  not  to  be  passed,  yet 
within  which  he  may  nourish  a  royal  man- 
hood, —  still  the  men  who  escape  from  pov- 
erty into  independence  wear  a  nobler  mien 
than  those  who  keep  even  with  the  world. 
Burns  is  the  poet  of  the  poor  man,  and  has 
almost  glorified  poverty,  but  he  never  put 
into  any  of  his  verses  more  of  his  broad 
common  sense  than  into  these  :  — 

"To  catch  Dame  Fortune's  gr/3en  smile, 

Assiduous  wait  upon  Ler; 
And  gather  gear  by  ev'ry  wile 

That 's  justified  by  honor: 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 

Nor  for  a  train  attendant; 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 

Of  being  iudepenient." 

It  is  a  great  part  :)f  this  battle  of  Ufe  to 
keep  a  good  heart.  The  prevailing  mood 
of  the  poor  is  that  of  sadness.    Their  gayety 


86  THRIFT. 

is  forced  and  fitful.  Their  drinking  habits 
are  the  cause  and  result  of  their  poverty. 
There  is  no  repose,  no  sense  of  adequacy, 
no  freedom,  after  one  has  waked  up  to  the 
fact  that  he  is  poor.  It  takes  but  little  to 
redeem  one  from  this  feeling.  The  spirit 
and  purpose  of  saving  thrift  change  the 
whole  color  of  life.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
have  already  made  accumulations  to  secure 
your  own  or  others'  indorsement  of  your 
manliness.  The  direction  you  face  will  be 
sufficient.  I  recall  the  homely  story  of  the 
young  man  who  applied  to  the  father  of 
"the  dearest  girl  in  the  world"  for  permis- 
sion to  marry,  and,  in  answer  to  the  search- 
ing and  inevitable  question  (don't  forget 
that  you  must  meet  it)  as  to  his  resources 
and  ability  to  support  a  wife,  was  obliged 
to  confess  that  he  had  no  money,  but  de- 
clared that  he  was  "  chock-full  of  day's 
work."  Money  was  only  a  question  of 
time. 

It  can  hardly  be  expected  that  you  will 
look  ahead  twenty  or  forty  years,  and  real- 
ize the  actual  stings  of  poverty  and  the 
sharper  stings  of  thriftless  habits ;  but  it 
may  be  expected  that  you  will  see  why  it  is 
wiser  and  more  manly  to  save  than  to  spend 


THRIFT.  87 

There  is  a  certain  fascinating  glare  about 
the  young  man  who  spends  freely;  whose 
purse  is  always  open,  whether  deep  or  shal- 
low ;  who  is  always  ready  to  foot  the  bills ; 
who  says  yes  to  every  proposal,  and  pro- 
duces the  money.  I  have  known  such  in 
the  past,  but  as  I  meet  them  now  I  find 
them  quite  as  ready  to  foot  the  bills,  but 
generally  unable  to  do  so.  I  have  noticed 
also  that  the  givers,  and  the  benefactors  of 
society,  had  no  such  youthhood.  This  pop- 
ular and  fascinating  young  man  is  in  reality 
a  very  poor  creature  ;  very  interesting  he 
may  be  in  the  matter  of  drinks,  and  bill- 
iards, and  theatre  tickets,  and  sldigh-rides, 
and  clothes,  and  club-rates  ;  but  when  he 
earns  five  or  eight  or  ten  hundred  dollars 
a  year,  and  spends  it  chiefly  in  this  way, 
would  charity  itself  call  him  anything  but 
a  fool  ?  The  boys  hail  him  a  royal  good 
fellow,  and  the  girls  pet  him^  but  who  re- 
spects him  ?  I  do  not  write  of  him  here 
with  any  hope  of  bettering  him  ;  he  is  of 
the  class  of  whom  it  is  said  that  an  experi- 
ence in  a  mortar  would  be  a  failure.  I  speak 
to  a  higher  grade  of  intelligence.  The  pain- 
ful fact,  however,  is  to  be  recognized,  that 
Ihe   saving  habit   is   losing  ground.     The 


88  THRIFT. 

reasons  are  evident:  city  and  country  are 
one.  The  standards  of  dress,  amusements, 
and  life  generally  are  set  in  the  richer  cir- 
cles of  the  metropolis,  and  are  observed,  at 
whatever  cost,  in  all  other  circles.  I  can  do 
nothing  to  offset  these  influences  but  to  re- 
mind you  of  nobler  methods.  I  can  only 
say  that  to  spend  all  one  earns  is  a  mistake  ; 
that  while  to  spend,  except  in  a  severe  and 
judicious  way,  weakens  character,  economy 
dignifies  and  strengthens  it. 

The  habit  of  saving  is  itself  an  education. 
It  fosters  every  virtue.     It  teaches  self-de- 
nial.    It   cultivates  a   sense  of   order.     It 
trains  to  forethought,  and  so  broadens  the 
mind.     It  reveals  the  meaning  of  the  word 
business,  which  is  somethiug  very  different 
from   its  routine.     One  may  know  all  the 
forms  of  business,  even  in  a  practical  way, 
without  having  the  business  characteristic. 
Were  a  merchant  to  choose  for  a  partner  a 
young  man  thoroughly  conversant  with  the 
business,  but  having  expensive,  self-indul- 
gent personal  habits,  or  one  not  yet  versed 
in  its  details,  but  who  knows  how  to  keep 
a  dollar  when  he  has  earned  it,  he  would 
unhesitatingly  take  the  latter.      The  habit 
nf    saving,  wHile    it  has   its  dangers,  even 


THRIFT.  89 

fosters  generosity.  The  great  givers  have 
been  great  savers.  The  miserly  habit  is 
not  acquired,  but  is  inborn.  Not  there  lies 
the  danger.  The  divinely-ordered  method 
of  saving  so  educates  and  establishes  such 
order  in  the  man,  and  brings  him  into  so  in- 
telligent a  relation  to  the  world,  that  he  be- 
comes a  benefactor.  It  is  coarse  thinking 
to  confound  spending  with  generosity,  or 
saving  with  meanness. 

(2.)  I  vary  the  strain  but  little  when  I 
say.  Avoid  a  self-indulgent  spending  of 
money. 

The  great  body  of  young  men  in  our 
country  are  in  the  receipt  of  such  incomes 
that  the  question  whether  a  thing  can  be 
afforded  or  not  becomes  a  highly  rational 
inquiry.  With  incomes  ranging  from  a  dol- 
lar or  less  per  day  to  a  thousand  dollars  a 
year,  there  is  room  for  the  play  of  that  wise 
word,  afford.  I  think  it  tends  to  shut  out 
several  things  that  are  very  generally  in- 
dulged in.  I  have  no  intention  of  saying 
anything  here  against  the  pleasant  habit  of 
Bmoking,  except  to  set  it  in  the  light  of  this 
common-sense  word,  afford.  Your  average 
ualaries  are,  say,  five  hundred  dollars.  If 
you  smoke  cigars,  your  sraall'est  daily  allow- 


90  THRIFT. 

ance  will  be  two,  costing  at  least  twenty 
cents,  —  I  assume  that  you  do  not  degrade 
yourselves  by  using  the  five-cent  article,  — 
more  than  seventy  dollars  a  year.  If  it  were 
fifty,  it  would  be  a  tenth  of  your  salary. 
The  naked  question  for  a  rational  being  to 
consider  is,  Can  I  afford  to  spend  a  tenth 
or  seventh  of  my  income  in  a  mere  indul- 
gence ?  What  has  common  sense  to  say  to 
the  proportion  ?  Would  not  this  amount, 
lodged  in  some  sound  investment,  contrib- 
ute rather  more  to  self-respect  ?  Ten  years 
of  such  expenditure  represent  probably  a 
thousand  dollars,  for  there  is  an  inevitable 
ratio  of  increase  in  all  self-indulgent  habits; 
fifty  years  represent  five  thousand,  —  more 
than  most  men  will  have  at  sixty-five,  who 
began  life  with  so  poor  an  understanding  of 
the  word  afford.  Double  these  estimates, 
and  they  will  be  all  the  truer.  I  do  not 
propose  in  these  pages  to  enter  on  a  crusade 
against  tobacco,  but  I  may  remind  you  that 
the  eye  of  the  world  is  fixed  on  the  tobacco 
habit  with  a  very  close  gaze.  The  educators 
in  Europe  and  America  are  agreed  that  it 
impairs  mental  energy.  Life-insurance  com- 
panies are  shy  of  its  peculiar  pulse.  Ocu- 
lists say  that  it  weakens  the  eyes.     Physi 


THRIFT.  91 

cians  declare  it  to  be  a  prolific  cause  of 
dyspepsia,  and  hence  of  other  ills.  The 
vital  statistician  finds  in  it  an  enemy  of  vir 
ility.  It  is  asserted  by  the  leading  authori- 
ties in  each  department  that  it  takes  the 
spring  out  of  the  nerves,  the  firmness  out  of 
the  muscles,  the  ring  out  of  the  voice  ;  that 
it  renders  the  memory  less  retentive,  the 
judgment  less  accurate,  the  conscience  less 
quick,  the  sensibilities  less  acute ;  that  it 
relaxes  the  will,  and  dulls  every  faculty  of 
body  and  mind  and  moral  nature,  dropping 
the  entire  man  down  in  the  scale  of  his  pow- 
ers, and  so  is  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the 
wasters  of  society.  I  do  not  undertake  to 
affirm  all  these  propositions,  but  only  to 
show  how  the  social  critics  of  the  day  are 
regarding  the  subject. 

The  habit  of  drinking  is  so  nearly  par- 
allel with  smoking  in  its  relation  to  thrift 
that  it  need  not  detain  us.  The  same  co- 
gent word  afford  applies  here  with  stronger 
emphasis,  because  the  drinking  habit  in- 
volves a  larger  ratio  of  increase.  Waiving 
any  moral  considerations  involved  in  beer 
drinking,  the  fact  of  its  cost  should  throw  it 
out.  The  same  startlinsc  figures  we  have 
used  are  more  than  true  here.     It  is  Jiot  a 


92  THRIFT. 

thrifty  habit,  and  no  young  man  who  has 
his  way  to  make  in  the  world  is  entitled  to 
an  unthrifty  habit.  It  is  idle  to  repeat  the 
truisms  of  the  theme.  We  have  heard  till 
we  cease  to  heed  that  drink  is  the  great 
waster  of  society.  Great  Britain  spends 
annually  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of 
dollars  in  drink.  Our  own  statistics  are 
nearly  as  bad.  It  is  the  one  thing — even 
if  it  does  not  reach  the  proportions  of  a  vice 
—  that  keeps  more  men  out  of  a  compe- 
tence than  all  other  causes  combined.  The 
twin  habits  of  smoking  and  beer-drinking 
stand  for  a  respectable  property  to  all  who 
indulge  in  them,  —  a  tiling  the  greater  part 
will  never  have,  though  they  have  liad  it. 
"  The  Gods  sell  all  things  at  a  fair  price," 
says  the  proverb ;  but  they  sell  nothing 
dearer  tlian  these  two  indulgences,  since 
the  price  is  commonly  the  man  himself. 

The  simple  conclusion  that  common  sense 
forces  ujDon  us  is  that  a  young  man  front- 
ing life  cannot  afford  to  drink ;  he  cannot 
afford  the  money  ;  he  cannot  atford  to  bear 
the  reputation,  nor  run  the  risks  it  involves. 

I  refer  next  to  the  habit  of  light  and 
foolish  spending.  Emerson  says,  "  The 
farmer's  dollar  is  heavy;  the  clerk's  is  light 


THRIFT.  93 

and  nimble,  leaps  out  of  bis  pockets,  jumps 
on  to  cards  and  faro  tables."  But  it  srets 
into  no  more  foolisb  place  tban  tbe  till  of 
tbo  sbowmau,  and  minstrel  troupe,  and  the- 
atrical company.  I  do  not  say  these  things 
are  bad.  When  decent,  they  are  allowable 
as  an  occasional  recreation,  but  here,  as 
before,  the  sense  of  proportion  mast  be  ob- 
Berved ;  not  what  I  like,  but  what  I  can 
afford. 

It  has  been  said  that  no  one  should  carry 
coin  loose  in  the  pocket,  as  too  easily  got 
at.  I  AYoiild  vary  it  by  applying  the  Span- 
ish proverb,  "  Before  forty,  nothing ;  after 
forty,  anything."  If  one  has  been  careful 
in  early  life  he  may  be  careless  after.  At 
first  let  the  purse  be  stout  and  well  tied 
with  stout  strings  ;  later  there  need  be  no 
purse,  but  only  an  open  hand. 

It  seems  to  be  an  excess  of  simplicity  to 
suggest  that  a  young  man  should  purchase 
nothing  that  he  does  not  actually  want, 
nothing  because  it  is  cheap  ;  to  resist  the 
glittering  appeals  of  jewels  and  gay  clothing 
%nd  delicate  surroundings.  These  will  come 
in  due  order. 

(3.)  It  is  an  essential  condition  of  thrift 
that  one  should  keep  to  legitimate  occupa- 


94  THRIFT. 

kious.  Tliere  is  no  thrift  in  chance ;  its 
central  idea  is  order,  —  a  series  of  causes 
and  effects  along  the  line  of  which  fore- 
thought can  look  and  make  its  calculations. 
Speculation  makes  the  few  rich  and  tlio 
many  poor.  Thrift  divides  the  prizes  of 
life  to  those  who  deserve  them.  If  the 
great  fortunes  are  the  results  of  specula- 
tions, the  average  competencies  have  their 
foundation  and  permanence  in  thrifty  ways. 

(4.)  Have  a  thorough  knowledge  of  your 
affairs  ;  leave  nothing  at  loose  ends ;  be  ex- 
act in  every  business  transaction.  The 
chief  source  of  quarrel  in  the  businesa 
world  is  what  is  termed  "  an  understand- 
ing," ending  commonly  in  a  misunderstand- 
ing. It  is  not  ungenerous  or  ignoble  al- 
ways to  insist  on  a  full,  straight-out  bar- 
gain, and  it  falls  in  with  the  thrifty  habit. 

It  is  a  very  simple  matter  to  name,  but 
the  habit  of  keeping  a  strict  account  of  per- 
sonal expenses  down  to  the  penny  has  great 
educational  power.  Keep  such  a  book,,  tab- 
ulate its  items  at  the  close  of  the  j'ear,  —  so 
much  for  necessaries,  so  much  for  luxuries, 
BO  much  for  worse  than  luxuries,  —  and 
iaten  to  what  it  reports  to  you. 

(6.)  Debt  is  the  secret  fow  of  thrift,  as 


THRIFT.  95 

rice  and  idleness  are  its  open  foes.  It  may 
Bometimes  be  wise  for  one  to  put  himself 
under  a  heavy  debt,  as  for  an  education,  or 
for  land,  or  for  a  home ;  but  the  debt-habit 
is  the  twin  brother  of  poverty. 

(6.)  Thrift  must  have  a  sufficient  motive. 
There  is  none  a  young  man  feels  so  keenly, 
if  once  lie  will  think  so  far,  as  the  honor- 
able place  assigned  to  men  of  substance. 
No  man  is  quite  respectable  in  this  nine- 
teenth century  who  has  not  a  bank  account. 
True  or  false,  high  or  low,  this  is  the  solid 
fact,  and,  for  one,  I  do  not  quarrel  with  it. 
As  most  of  us  are  situated  in  this  world,  we 
must  win  this  place  and  pa^^  its  price.  The 
common  cry  of  "  a  good  time  while  we  are 
young  "  is  not  the  price  nor  the  way.  Mr. 
Nasmyth,  of  England,  an  inventor  and 
holder  of  a  large  fortune  made  by  himself, 
says,  "  If  I  were  to  compress  into  one  sen- 
tence the  whole  of  my  experience,  and  offer 
it  to  young  men  as  a  rule  and  certain  re- 
•eipt  for  success  in  any  station,  it  would  be 
comprised  in  these  words.  Duty  first,  pleas- 
ure second  !  From  what  I  have  seen  of 
young  men  and  their  after  progress,  I  am 
satisfied  that  what  is  called  '  bad  fortune,' 
ill  luck,'  is,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  simply 
^he  result  of  inverting  the  above  maxim." 


96  THRIFT. 

"  Serve  a  noble  disposition,  though  poor,* 
Bays  George  Herbert;  "the  time  comes  when 
he  "will  repay  thee." 

We  cannot  properly  leave  our  subject  un- 
til we  have  referred  to  spending,  for  thrift 
consists  in  the  putting  out,  as  well  as  the 
ingathering,  of  money.  It  decides  how,  and 
to  what  extent,  we  shall  both  spend  and 
save.  We  must  leave  ample  room  for  the 
play  of  generosity  and  honor;  we  must 
meet  the  demands  of  church  and  home  and 
community  with  a  wise  and  liberal  hand ; 
we  must  preserve  a  keen  and  governing 
sense  of  stewardship,  never  forgetting  the 
ultimate  use  of  money,  and  the  moral  and 
intellectual  realities  that  underlie  life.  This 
matter  of  thrifty  saving  is  purely  instrumen- 
tal, simply  to  bring  us  into  circumstances 
where  self-respect,  a  sense  of  independence 
and  of  usefulness,  are  possible ;  or,  putting 
it  finer,  we  save  to  get  into  the  freedom 
of  our  nature.  Were  the  wisdom  of  the 
whole  subject  gathered'  into  one  phrase,  it 
would  be,  When  young,  save ;  when  old, 
Bjiend.  But  each  must  have  something  of 
the  spirit  of  the  other;  save  generously, 
spend  thriftily. 

If  I  were  to  name  a  general  principle  tc 


THRIFT.  97 

cover  the  whole  matter,  I  would  say, 
Spend  vptvard,  that  is,  for  the  higher 
faculties.  Spend  for  the  mind  rather  than 
for  the  body;  for  culture  rather  than  for 
amusement.  The  very  secret  and  essence 
of  thrift  consists  in  getting  things  into 
higher  values.  As  the  clod  turns  into  a 
flower,  and  the  flower  inspires  a  poet ;  as 
bread  becomes  vital  force,  and  vital  force 
feeds  moral  purpose  and  aspiration,  so 
should  all  our  saving  and  out-go  have  re- 
gard to  the  higher  ranges  and  appetites 
of  our  nature.  If  you  have  a  dollar,  or  a 
hundred,  to  spend,  put  it  into  something 
above  the  average  of  your  nature  that  you 
may  be  attracted  to  it.  Beyond  what  is 
necessary  for  your  bodily  wants  and  well- 
being,  every  dollar  spent  for  the  body  is 
a  derogation  of  manhood.  Get  the  better 
thing,  never  the  inferior.  The  night  sup- 
per, the  ball,  the  drink,  the  billiard  table, 
the  minstrels,  —  enough  calls  of  this  sort 
there  are,  and  in  no  wise  modest  in  their 
demands,  but  they  issue  from  below  you. 
Go  buy  a  book  instead,  or  journey  abroad, 
or  bestow  a  gift. 

I  have  not  urged  thrift  upon  you  for  its 

own  sake,  nor  merely  that  you  may  be  kept 
7 


98  THRIFT. 

from  poverty,  nor  even  for  the  ease  it 
brings,  but  because  it  lies  near  to  all  the 
virtues,  and  antagonizes  all  the  vices.  It  is 
the  conserving  and  protecting  virtue.  It 
makes  soil  and  atmosphere  for  all  healthy 
cn-owths.  It  favors  a  full  manhood.  It 
works  against  the  very  faults  it  seems  to 
invite,  and  becomes  the  reason  and  inspira- 
tion of  generosity. 


V. 

SELF-RELIANCE  AND 
COURAGE. 


"And  having  done  all,   to  stand.      Stand,  therefore." 

St.  Paul. 

"'Hell  (a wise  man  has  said)  is  paved  with  good  inten- 
tions.' Pluck  up  the  stones,  ye  sluggards,  and  break  the 
devil's  head  with  them."  Guesses  at  Truth. 

"Amass,  that  is  to  say,  collective  mediocrity." — Johh 
Btuabt  Mill. 

"  This  above  all :  to  thine  ownsclf  be  true  ; 
And  t  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 

Hamlet,  i.  t. 


V. 

SELF-RELIANCE  AND  COITEAGE. 

So  far  we  have  spoken  chiefly  of  conduct; 
in  this  chapter  we  speak  of  that  interior 
thing  that  we  call  selfhood  or  personality. 
To  get  a  clear,  full  sense  of  it  is  a  great 
achievement,  leading,  as  it  does,  to  this 
quality  or  state  of  self-reliance.  No  man 
is  self-reliant,  or  has  intelligent  courage, 
until  he  has  come  to  a  thorough  sense  of 
himself  ;  not  in  any  way  of  conceit  or  self- 
complacency,  but  by  a  deliberate  survey  and 
examination  of  himseK,  as  if  from  the  out- 
side. 

I  think  we  may  all  agree  with  Humboldt 
that  the  aim  of  man  should  be  to  secure 
"  the  highest  and  most  harmonious  develop- 
ment of  his  powers  to  a  complete  and  con- 
listent  whole ; "  or,  as  we  said  in  the  first 
chapter,  "to  make  the  most  of  himself." 
This  is  the  specific  work  of  civilization,  to 
get  the  individual  out  of  the  mass  and  exalt 


102        SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE. 

him  into  personality.  In  savagery  one  ia 
the  duplicate  of  another.  In  civilization 
there  is  variety,  or  rather  individuality,  in 
the  exact  degree  of  the  civilization.  It 
comes  about,  as  Mr.  Mills  tells  us,  through 
"  freedom  and  variety  of  situations."  Free- 
dom takes  off  the  restraints,  so  that  what- 
ever is  in  the  man  comes  out.  Civilization 
offers  the  variety  of  situations  needful  for 
confirming  the  individual  traits.  Thus 
there  will  be  the  most  of  strong,  distinct 
character  where  there  is  the  largest  free- 
dom and  the  most  complex  civilization.  In 
simpler  form,  freedom  gives  us  a  chance; 
civilization  stimulates  us. 

Other  things,  indeed,  help  to  bring  out 
individuality.  Necessity  spurs  a  man,  and 
opportunities  allure  him.  Both  have  had 
full  play  in  this  country.  Poverty  on  one 
hand,  and  ungathered  wealth  on  the  other 
band,  —  these  have  largely  created  the 
American  type.  Hence  in  a  new  country 
almost  every  man  is  what  is  called  "a 
character."  I  think  I  noticed  in  Califor- 
nia a  sharper  individuality  than  I  observe 
in  New  England.  The  Englishman  feels 
uncomfortably  the  broad  and  pronounced 
diversity  of  cliaracter  he  finds  here,  and  we 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE.        lOB 

are  obliged  to  confess  that  English  society 
13  just  a  little  insipid  from  lack  of  it. 

Religion  also  influences  individuality. 
I A  superstition,  a  fixed  form,  a  false  faith, 
or  a  false  rendering  of  the  true  faith,  re- 
presses individuality.  Idolaters  and  bigots 
resemble  one  another  and  are  herd-like,  but 
a  faith  like  Christianity  that  is  full  of  free- 
dom, and  is  throughout  keyed  to  deliver- 
ance, stimulates  individuality.  All  along  it 
has  blossomed  out  into  great  original  char- 
acters, —  poets,  statesmen,  inventors,  navi- 
gators, explorers,  philanthropists.  It  was 
the  secret  of  the  Reformation  that  it  restored 
to  Chi-istianity  its  normal  order  of  freedom, 
long  interrupted;  when  the  pressure  was 
taken  off,  all  Europe  burst  into  a  brilliancy 
of  thought  and  discovery  such  as  the  world 
had  never  seen.  The  literature  of  the 
Elizabethan  age  outranks  that  of  Greece, 
not  in  perfection  of  form,  but  because  it  is 
instinct  with  a  freedom  and  individuality 
not  to  be  found  in  the  ancients.  Shake- 
speare may  not  be  so  great  an  artist  as 
^schylus,  but  he  stimulates  character  as 
the  Greek  did  not.  I  would  like  to  remind 
young  men  in  these  days  of  insinuating, 
Blighting  infidelity,  that  the  glory  and  force 


104        SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE. 

of  modern  civilization  is  the  direct  and 
logical  outcome  of  Christianity.  Its  root- 
idea  is  deliverance.  It  first  freed  the  human 
mind  and  then  inspired  it.  It  is  something 
more  than  a  matter  of  church  and  Bible ;  it 
is  a  life-giving  spirit ;  it  is  an  atmosphere ; 
it  is  the  soul  of  the  world. 

Race  also  has  much  to  do  with  individu- 
ality. The  blood  that  has  force  and  cour- 
age in  it  produces  the  widest  variety  of 
character.  It  is  significant  that  Christianity 
allies  itself  most  readily  to  the  strongest 
races,  entering  into  them  as  quicksilver 
mingles  with  gold.  The  strong  race  opposes 
it  at  first  with  the  stoutest  will,  and  ques- 
tions it  with  the  profoundest  interrogation, 
but  still  accepts  it,  because,  at  bottom,  they 
sympathize.  A  weak  race  debases  Chris- 
tianity when  it  receives  it,  it  cannot  stand 
up  under  its  stout  duties  ;  but  the  strong 
race  takes  it  at  its  full  measure. 

This  Anglo-Saxon  blood  of  ours,  with  its 
refining  strain  of  Norman,  is  the  best  in  the 
world.  It  contains  the  virtues,  and  holds 
the  vices  as  alien.  It  honors  marriage  and 
tlie  home  ;  it  speaks  the  truth  ;  it  is  hon- 
est ;  it  is  rich,  comprehensive,  charged  with 
the  widest  possibilities.     Its  inmost  quality 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE.        105 

is  force,  hence  its  clearest  exponent  is  indi. 
viduality.  It  tends  to  erect  each  man  into 
a  full-rounded  person,  whence  comes  lib- 
erty ;  for  liberty  is  but  the  assertion  of 
personality,  with  its  rights  and  obligations. 
Such  it  has  been  of  old  and  hitherto ;  let 
us  hope  that  it  will  never  lose  this  qual- 
ity. Some  one,  I  have  forgotten  who,  has 
pointed  out  the  significant  fact  that  the  god 
of  our  Scandinavian  ancestors  was  not  a 
Zeus  hurling  thunderbolts,  but  a  Thor  wield- 
ing a  hammer ;  the  Greek  god  shed  arrows 
of  fate ;  the  Scandinavian  beat  down  obsta- 
cles. An  old  Norseman,  not  mythologic, 
had  for  a  crest  a  pick-axe,  with  the  motto, 
"  Either  I  will  find  a  way  or  make  one." 
And  another  said,  "  I  believe  neither  in 
idols  nor  demons ;  I  put  my  sole  trust  in 
my  own  strength  of  body  and  soul." 

Just  because  the  main  quality  of  this 
blood  is  force,  it  retains  this  characteristic. 
Not  every  youth,  with  this  forceful  blood 
in  his  veins,  carries  Thor's  hammer  in  his 
band,  but  it  is  hidden  somewhere  about  him- 
To  get  it  into  the  strong  right  hand,  where 
it  can  be  wielded  against  the  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  manhood,  is  the  business  before 
us. 


106        SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE. 

When  one  rides  through  Italy  and  sees 
the  brawny  peasants  stretched  at  ease  by 
the  roadside,  one  reflects  that  they  have  a 
justification  in  their  blood.  But  a  lazy,  list- 
less, forceless  Anglo-Saxon  is  a  contradiction 
to  his  own  nature. 

The  most  notable  exhibitions  of  this 
blood,  I  think,  are  to  be  seen  in  its  emigra- 
tions. A  factory  stretching  across  a  valley 
indicates  energy,  but  it  does  not  reveal  the 
particular  quality  of  self-reliance  as  does 
the  emigration  of  a  man  from  the  East  to 
the  frontier.  The  ancient  eraigi'ations  were 
in  masses ;  the  Anglo-Saxon  does  not  wait 
for  his  neighbor,  but  takes  counsel  with 
himself,  gathers  together  his  family,  and 
starts.  Men  do  few  braver  things.  I  have 
never  been  prouder  of  my  race  than  when 
I  have  come  across,  perched  upon  a  swell 
of  endless,  desolate  prairie  in  Nebraska,  or 
hidden  in  some  remote  glen  of  the  Sierras, 
the  rough  dwelling  of  a  white-skinned  set- 
tler, come  there  in  the  mighty  strength  of 
his  self-reliance  to  build  a  home  and  ham- 
mer out  a  fortune  with  this  same  hammer 
of  'i'hor.  He  is  not  a  Mexican  wandering 
with  his  herds,  or  "  white  trash  "  crowded 
to  the  frontier,  but  one  of  Bacon's  "  found 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE.        107 

ers."  All  English  history  is  behind  hira 
and  in  him.  He  not  only  wins  a  living,  but 
subdues  nature  to  his  use  and  taste,  and 
makes  soil  and  tree  and  ore  tributary  to  his 
grandly-conceived  selfhood.  He  is  a  per- 
son —  quite  conscious  of  the  fact ;  he  wants 
what  belongs  to  a  man,  and,  by  the  aid  of 
Thor's  hammer,  he  will  get  it.  Put  a  few 
of  these  Anglo-Saxons  down  anywhere  on 
the  continent,  and  forthwith  they  bring  all 
civilization  to  their  doors. 

Another  feature  of  this  civilization  is  its 
expansive  character,  its  tendency  to  com- 
plexity, adding  something  new  and  perma- 
nent every  year.  What  it  will  attain  tc 
when  it  has  cleared  all  traditional  obstacles 
out  of  its  way,  and  got  into  full  freedom,  is 
beyond  conception,  because  we  have  no  con- 
ception of  what  is  in  man. 

The  thing  I  wish  to  get  before  young  men 
is,  that  they  are  summoned  by  inheritance 
to  a  very  lofty  type  of  self-reliance  and 
manhood.  But  we  sometimes  fail  of  our 
birthright.  Other  influences  may  work 
against  inborn  tendency  and  force,  and  all 
good  things  need  culture.  Necessity  is  the 
spur  to  self-reliance  ,•  a  noble  pride  and  self- 
respect  are  its  atmosphere.     Where  there  is 


108        SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE. 

wealtli  tbe  spur  is  apt  to  lose  its  sharpness 
and  often  self-respect  is  smothered  under  an 
accumulation  of  social  influences. 

My  first  direct  word  on  the  subject  will 
be  an  appeal  to  young  men  to  realize,  eacli 
one  for  himself,  that  he  is  a  person. 

It  is  not  every  man  who  has  said  to  him- 
self, "  I  am  I ;  I  am  not  another,  but  I 
am  myself."  There  are  many  who  have 
not  yet  ascertained  whether  they  are  them- 
selves or  some  one  else,  and  are  quite  as 
often  one  as  the  other  ;  many  who  do  not 
get  themselves  detached  from  the  mass  of 
liumanity,  but  live  and  act  out  of  the  com- 
mon stock  of  thought  and  feeling.  When 
one  agrees  with  everything  I  say,  however 
carelessly  I  am  talking,  there  is  really  but 
one  of  us.  When  Hamlet  likened  the 
cloud  to  a  camel,  a  weasel,  and  a  whale, 
and  Polonius  assented,  there  was  but  one 
person  in  the  colloquy  ;  Polonius  was  no- 
body. To  be  a  person,  to  have  opinions 
and  respect  them,  —  this  is  something  at 
once  necessary  and  diflicult,  because  at  the 
same  time  a  young  man  should  heed  and 
value  the  opinions  of  others,  and  steer  wide 
di  the  slough  of  conceit.  At  the  one  ex- 
treme is  the  young  man  who  agrees  with 


I 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE.        109 

everybody,  and  goes  with  the  crowd ;  at 
the  other  extreme  is  one  who  knows  every- 
thing and  has  settled  all  questions.  The 
latter  may  be  the  more  odious  at  present, 
but  he  will  turn  out  better.  His  mates  will 
kick  a  part  of  his  folly  out  of  him,  and  con- 
tact with  the  world  will  wear  away  the 
rest,  leaving  him  a  substantial  person,  while 
the  other,  liaving  no  inherent  shape,  will  be 
moulded  over  and  over  to  the  end.  He  ia 
pious  or  wicked,  Republican  or  Democrat, 
liberal  or  bigot,  according  to  the  strongest 
influence;  the  better  reason  has  little  weight 
with  him.  Without  doubt,  one  should  hold 
himself  open  to  all  good  influences,  but  the 
main  question,  after  all,  is  whether  one  is  a 
mind  to  be  convinced,  or  simply  a  mass  to 
be  moulded  and  attracted.  Every  public 
speaker  knows  that  those  who  flutter  about 
him  with  readiest  assent  are  not  the  ones 
best  worth  convincing.  I  have  little  fear 
for  the  self-opinionated  young  man.  The 
kind  wise  world  has  rods  in  keeping  that 
will  take  the  conceit  out  of  him.  I  fear  for 
him  who  goes  with  the  crowd  and  draws  hia 
opinions  and  sentiments  from  the  common 
stock.  I  hate  to  hear  a  young  man  say, 
•*  They    all   do   it,"  —  a  very   shabby   and 


no        SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE. 

odious  phrase.  I  bate  to  see  a  youug  man 
jump  into  the  current  that  happens  to  be 
nearest,  or  just  now  most  impetuous, — 
whether  it  be  good  or  bad,  bicycle  or  Bern- 
hardt,—  and  float  with  it  for  sake  of  the 
company.  It  were  better  to  be  borne  by 
Bome  stream  of  native  feeling  or  personal 
conviction,  or  to  stand  stock  still  while  the 
mindless  crowd  sweeps  by.  One  should  al- 
ways question  the  prevaiHng  craze^  what- 
ever it  is,  till  he  finds  out  if  it  has  a  reason 
for  him  in  it.  I  think  if  President  Garfield's 
time  in  college  had  been  the  bicycle  era,  he 
would  have  been  the  first  or  the  last  to  ride. 
Either  decision  would  have  been  from  a  per- 
sonal reason.  It  is  true  that  men  move  in 
masses,  that  there  is  a  gregarious  instinct, 
that  great  passions  and  purposes  often  make 
wliole  populations  as  one  man,  but  they  are 
movements  that  need  to  be  carefully  scru- 
tinized. Tliose  that  have  swept  over  our 
country  have  not  been  very  creditable, — a 
dancer,  a  singer,  an  autlior  who  abused  us, 
a  poHtical  adventurer,  and  just  now  an  act- 
ress whose  son  addresses  her  as  "  Mademoi- 
selle ma  mcre.''^  Taglioni  and  Jenny  Lind 
and  Dickens  and  Kossuth  and  Bernhardt 
do  not  represent  the  highest  forces  in  the 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND  COURAGE.       Ill 

moral  and  intellectual  world,  but  each  has 
forced  us  to  wear  national  sackcloth.  I  do 
not  urge  stolid  insensibility  to  a  prevail- 
ing enthusiasm.  There  is  no  objection  to 
marching  in  a  procession  and  throwing  one's 
cap  in  air,  but  it  is  imperative  that  one 
should  know  why  he  does  it.  Still,  march- 
ing in  a  procession  is  not  the  noblest  way. 
One  admires  rather  the  self-poise  of  Fichte 
who  kept  at  his  books  while  the  drums  of 
Napoleon  were  sounding  in  his  ears.  Napo- 
leon might  be  a  very  grand  phenomenon, 
as  he  admitted,  but  he  —  Fichte — was  also 
a  phenomenon  that  he  felt  bound  to  re- 
spect. As  a  rule,  resist  the  gregarious 
habit ;  suspect  the  crowd,  and  before  you 
march  in  companies  of  whatever  sort,  find 
out  if  you  are  marching  to  please  yourself 
or  the  captain.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  or- 
ganization and  association  of  this  sort,  for 
the  delectation  of  the  leaders  at  the  expense 
»if  subordinates.  It  is  well  to  say  of  them, 
"  I  will  consult  myself  on  this  matter ;  I 
will  find  out  if  it  is  agreeable  and  wise  for 
this  person  that  I  am." 

The  heaviest  charged  words  in  our  lan- 
guage are  those  two  briefest  ones.  Yes  and 
No.     One  stands  for  the  surrender  of  the 


112        SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE. 

will,  the  other  for  denial ;  one  for  gratifi- 
cation, the  other  for  character.  Plutarch 
says  that  "  the  inhabitants  of  Asia  come  to 
be  vassals  to  one  only,  for  not  having  been 
able  to  pronounce  one  syllable,  which  ia 
No."  A  stout  No  means  a  stout  character  ; 
the  ready  Yes  means  a  weak  one,  gild  it  as 
we  may. 

Practically,  an  attitude  something  like 
this  is  wise :  when  a  proposal  is  made, 
consider  it  probable  that  there  is  as  much 
reason  for  refusing  as  for  assenting.  Will 
you  ride  with  me,  drink  yith  me,  play  with 
me?  For  such  questions  and  all  others 
have  the  No  as  convenient  as  the  Yes.  In- 
deed, when  one  thinks  of  the  power  of  fash- 
ion and  custom,  it  seems  well  to  have 
the  No  somewhat  readier.  The  vices  are 
hardly  more  the  result  of  appetite  than  of 
custom.  There  have  been  periods  and  com- 
munities in  which  nearly  all  were  pure  and 
temperate  ;  it  was  the  custom.  The  thing 
to  be  feared  for  young  men  at  present  is 
the  general  understanding  of  what  is  cus- 
tomary in  the  habits  of  certain  circles  of 
their  number.  Tliere  is  fearful  power  in 
tliose  four  little  words,  "  They  all  do  it." 
To  resist  the  crowd,  to  hold  the  scales  of 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE.        Il3 

right  and  wrong  in  your  own  hand,  to  re- 
alize that  whole  masses  may  go  wrong,  — 
that  common  custom  may  be  vile,  to  stand 
erect  and  within  the  inclosure  of  your  self- 
respect,  this  is  a  prime  feature  of  manhood. 

We  must  now  look  somewhat  into  the 
methods  of  the  culture  of  this  brave  qual- 
ity 

(1.)  Education,  of  course,  is  its  essen- 
tial condition.  The  ignorant  herd  together, 
think,  feel,  act  alike  ;  but  your  trained  man 
suspects  the  crowd.  He  feels  its  encroach- 
ments on  his  personality.  He  fears  lest  it 
may  steal  his  decision  away  from  him  by 
brute  force.  He  is  sufficient  to  himself,  and 
stands  on  his  self-grounded  reasons  and 
habits.  But  while  this  process  of  educa- 
tion is  going  on  that  is  to  bring  us  into  full 
seK-reliance,  we  must  help  it  in  special 
ways. 

(2.)  Secure  for  yourself  some  regular 
privacy  of  life.  As  George  Herbert  says, 
"  By  all  means,  use  sometimes  to  be  alone." 
God  has  put  us  each  into  a  separate  body. 
We  should  follow  the  divine  hint,  and  see 
to  it  that  we  do  not  lapse  again  into  the 
general  flood  of  being.  Many  persons  can- 
not endure  being  alone ;  they  are  lost  un- 


114       SELF-RELIANCE  AND  COURAGE. 

less  there  is  a  clatter  of  tongues  in  their 
ears.  It  is  not  only  weak,  but  it  fosters 
weakness.  The  gregarious  instinct  is  ani- 
mal, —  the  sheep  and  deer  living  on  in  us ; 
to  be  alone  is  sjjiritual.  We  can  have  no 
clear  personal  judgment  of  things  till  we 
are  somewhat  separate  from  them.  Mr. 
Webster  used  to  say  of  a  difficult  question, 
"  Let  me  sleep  on  it."  It  was  not  merely 
for  morning  vigor,  but  to  get  the  matter  at 
a  distance  where  he  could  measure  its  pro- 
portions and  see  its  relations.  So  it  is  well 
at  times  to  get  away  from  our  world  — 
companions,  actions,  work — in  order  to 
measure  it,  and  ascertain  our  relations  to  it. 
The  moral  use  of  the  night  is  in  the  isola- 
tion it  brings,  shutting  out  the  world  from 
the  senses  that  it  may  be  realized  in 
thought.  It  is  very  simple  advice,  but 
worth  heeding.  Get  some  moments  each 
day  to  yourself ;  take  now  and  then  a  soli- 
tary walk ;  get  into  the  silence  of  thick 
woods,  or  some  other  isolation  as  deep,  and 
suffer  the  mysterious  sense  of  selfhood  to 
steal  upon  you,  as  it  surely  will.  Pythago- 
ras insisted  on  an  hour  of  solitude  every 
day,  to  meet  his  own  mind  and  learn  what 
wacle  it  had  to  impart. 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND  COURAGE        115 

(8.)  I  name  a  very  delicate  point  when  1 
Bay,  Cultivate  a  sense  of  personal  dignity, 
—  have  bounds  to  familiarity.  Noli  me 
tangere  —  touch  me  not  —  is  the  utterance 
of  a  divine  dignity.  There  is  a  subtle  law 
by  which  greatness  and  excellence  create  a 
sense  of  separation.  Refined  manners  for- 
bid excessive  familiarity,  not  simply  as  good 
manners,  but  because  they  contribute  to 
selfhood.  Hence  the  well-bred  scrupulously 
respect  each  other's  persons,  down  to  the 
smallest  particular.  The  very  touch  of  the 
hand  is  instinct  with  delicate  respect.  No 
self-respecting  man  will  suffer  his  body,  or 
mind,  or  soul  to  be  slapped  on  the  back. 
Thus  instinct  and  manners  unconsciously 
guard  personality,  and  secure  to  it  room 
and  air  for  growth. 

(4.)  Do  not  fear  unpopularity.  I  do 
not  say,  court  it,  but,  do  not  think  much 
nbout  it,  nor  dread  it,  if  it  comes  through 
the  assertion  of  your  manhood.  There  is 
no  time  when  the  pressure  of  opinion  is  so 
strong  as  in  early  life.  It  is  something  fear- 
ful in  its  power  in  college,  and  where'  c  else 
young  persons  are  brought  into  close  and 
daily  contact.  When  a  young  man  saya 
pf  another,  "  He  is  popular,"  he  says  what 


116        SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE. 

he  considers  the  best  possible  thing;  but 
if  "  unpopular,"  the  worst.  I  do  not  deny 
that  there  may  bo  some  reality  of  truth  in 
this ;  but  I  protest  against  the  slavishness 
it  begets.  To  court  popularity,  to  unduly 
dread  the  loss  of  it,  is  a  denial  of  selfhood. 
It  puts  the  standard  of  judging  in  another 
instead  of  retaining  it  in  yourself.  You  like 
the  good  opinion  of  others  ;  it  is  well ;  but 
first  have  a  good  opinion  of  yourself.  It  is 
well  to  respect  others ;  very  true ;  but  first 
respect  yourself.  "  If  I  do  so  and  so,  what 
will  others  think  of  me?"  But  what  will 
you  think  of  yourself  ?  "I  shall  lose  my 
place  in  society,  if  I  refuse  to  do  this  or 
that."  But  is  it  worse  than  being  turned 
out  of  yourself  ?  "I  fear  I  shall  be  unpop- 
ular." Fear  rather  being  unpopular  with 
yourself,  for  the  soul  of  man  is  a  sort  of 
community  ;  conscience,  taste,  self-respect, 
will,  honor,  judgment,  —  these  are  its  citi- 
zens, whose  suffrages  are  more  to  be  desired 
than  of  the  whole  world  beside. 

To  make  popularity  a  guide  is  to  come 
into  middle  life  weak,  and  into  age  crippled. 
Self  evaporates  under  the  process,  ancj 
wlien  the  flattering  voices  have  died  out,  — 
there  being  no  longer  anything  to   appea. 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND  COURAGE.        117 

to  them,  —  emptiness  and  weariness  are  all 
that  remain.  There  is  no  old  age  that  is 
BO  horrible  as  that  of  one  who  has  lived  on 
popnlar  applause.  Even  religion  cannot 
comfort  one  who  has  frittered  away  his 
selfhood  in  a  steady  strife  after  popularity  ; 
the  very  mechanism  by  which  it  operates  is 
gone. 

(5.)  Keep  steadily  before  you  the  fact 
that  all  true  success  depends  at  last  upon 
yourself,  —  trite  to  weariness,  I  acknowl- 
edge, but  one  of  those  eternal  truths  to  be 
kept  before  us  as  we  heed  gravitation  and 
appetite.     The  tritest  is  always  the  truest. 

By  nature  we  are  weak ;  our  destiny  is 
to  become  strong  ;  but  we  shun  destiny,  and 
lean  to  our  first  characteristic.  Who  will 
help  me?  What  can  I  depend  on  ?  These 
are  our  first  natural  questions.  But  we  do 
not  get  on  the  track  of  success  until  we  drop 
all  such  questioning,  and  begin  to  realize 
that  we  must  depend  upon  ourselves.  By 
success  I  mean  a  full  manhood  and  its  in- 
herent peace.  This  is  not  possible  until 
one  has  planted  himself  upon  his  own  pow- 
ers and  begun  to  work  from  them.  He 
*iay  have  money,  friends,  chances,  good  fort- 
une, but  that  which  underlies  achievement 


118        SELF-RELIANCE  AND    COURAGE. 

is  the  ability  of  the  man  himself.  If  suc- 
cess comes  from  without,  it  will  be  fictitious, 
and  will  fail  to  make  returns  of  happiness. 
When  it  flowers  out  of  one's  energies,  it  is 
a  vital  and  ministering  thing.  Sir  Fowell 
Buxton  —  as  substantial  a  citizen  as  Eng- 
land has  produced  in  the  generation  — 
said,  "  The  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  am 
certain  that  the  great  difference  between 
men,  between  the  feeble  and  the  powerful, 
the  great  and  the  insignificant,  is  energy, 
invincible  determination.  That  quality  will 
do  anything  that  can  be  done  in  this  world ; 
and  no  talents,  no  circumstances,  no  oppor- 
tunities, will  make  a  two-legged  creature  a 
man  without  it."  In  the  same  strain,  Presi- 
dent Porter  :  "  Energy,  invincible  determi- 
nation, with  a  right  motive,  are  the  levers 
^hat  move  the  world." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  self  is 
tlie  only  certain  reliance.  Money,  family, 
friends,  circumstances,  —  these  come  and  go 
on  the  uncertain  tide  of  time.  The  okl 
Norseman  was  right :  on  neither  idols  nor 
demons,  upon  nothing  but  the  strength  of 
his  own  body  and  soul,  would  he  depend. 
There  must  be,  however,  a  self  to  depend 
on.     Self  is   not   a   whim ;   it   is   not   im 


0ELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE.        119 

pulse,  nor  ambition,  nor  flux  of  motives,  but 
a  substantial  person,  grounded  in  intelli- 
gence and  will  and  moral  sense. 

I  liave  not  distinguislife^  between  self- 
reliance  and  courage,  because  they  so  inter- 
penetrate each  other.  Courage  may  be  re- 
garded  as  the  refinement  of  self-reliance,  — 
the  spirit-side  to  that  of  which  self-reliance 
is  the  mind-side.  When  one  says.  Be  self- 
reliant,  he  speaks  to  the  will  and  judg- 
ment ;  when  one  says,  Be  courageous,  he 
addresses  the  heart  and  spirit. 

I  would  have  you  regard  courage  as  near- 
ly the  supreme  quality  in  character.  One 
may  get  rich  without  it ;  one  may  live  a 
"  good  easy  "  life  without  it,  but  one  can- 
not live  a  full  and  noble  life  without  it.  It 
is  the  quality  by  which  one  rises  in  the  line 
of  each  faculty  ;  it  is  the  wings  that  turn 
dull  plodding  into  flight.  It  is  courage  es- 
pecially that  redeems  life  from  the  curse  of 
iommonness. 

Before  leaving  the  subject,  I  would  like 
to  set  it  distinctly  against  a  disposition  — 
growing  somewhat  common,  I  fear  —  to  set- 
tle down  into  a  purposeless  enjoyment  of 
the  present:  a  life  without  earnestness  or 
aspiration ;  a  life  that  aims  only  at  "  Iwiv- 


120        SELF-RELIJjyCE  AND    COURAGE. 

ing  a  good  time,"  —  a  weak  and  beggarly 
phrase.  The  essential  characteristic  of  tliia 
life  is  tliat  it  lacks  courage,  —  the  fine  hiccb 

CD     '  O 

spirit  that  disdains  the  common  life,  and 
dares  the  future  for  a  nobler  one;  "the 
dauntless  spirit  of  resolution,"  Shake- 
speare calls  it.  Is  it  true  that  young  men 
are  regarding  life  less  ideally  ?  —  that  some 
mist,  bred  of  prosperous  times,  has  come 
into  the  air,  obscuring  the  stars,  and  shut- 
ting the  vision  up  to  what  is  near  and  pal- 
pable ?  Is  Thor's  hammer  gone  from  our 
hands  ?  We  will  hope  that  it  is  but  a  mist 
that  just  now  seems  to  be  blinding  the  eyes 
of  many,  and  that  we  shall  again  see  young 
men  drawn  on  by  noble  ambitions  and  high 
ideals. 

It  would  be  most  incomplete  to  speak  of 
courage  and  not  refer  to  it  in  the  liedged-in 
fields  of  life. 

The  burdens  of  life  do  not  always  fall 
vpon  the  mature  and  aged.  Life  often  takes 
on  its  most  grievous  and  binding  form  in  the 
young.  Poverty,  toil,  sickness,  imperfect 
education,  premature  responsibihty,  many 
of  you,  I  know,  bear  these  burdens.  "  Wluit 
is  all  this  to  me  ?  I  can  attempt  nothing 
great  or  high ;  I  have  no  future  but  to  keeo 


SELF-RELIANCE  AND   COURAGE.        121 

right  on  ;  for  me  to  aspire  and  plan  is  folly." 
It  may  be  so,  but  there  is  one  thing  you  can 
do,  and  it  is  the  best  thing  any  man  can 
do  in  this  world,  —  you  can  keep  up  good 
heart.  This  is  courage,  indeed :  to  look 
into  a  dull  future  and  smile  ;  to  stay  bound 
and  not  chafe  under  the  cords  ;  to  endure 
pain  and  keep  the  cheer  of  health ;  to  see 
hopes  die  out  and  not  sink  into  brutish  de- 
spair, —  here  is  courage  before  which  we 
may  pause  with  reverence  and  admiration. 
It  is  so  high  that  we  link  it  with  divine 
things,  carrying  it  quite  beyond  the  sphere 
of  any  earthly  success. 


VI. 

HEALTH. 


"  Thongh  the  mills  of  God  grind  slowly, 
Yet  they  grind  exceeding  small ; 
Though  with  patience  He  stands  waiting, 
With  exactness  grinds  he  all." 

Longfellow. 

■■*  A  sound  heart  is  the  life  of  the  flesh." 

Solomon. 

•♦Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty; 
For  in  ray  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood; 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty  but  kindly." 

As  Tou  Like  It,  u.  1. 

•*  Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite 
And  health  on  both  1 " 

Macbeth,  iil.  4- 


VI. 

HEALTH. 

The  questions  now  coming  into  prom« 
inence  pertain  chiefly  to  social  science. 
While  there  are  political  and  religious 
questions  that  still  vex  and  interest  society, 
it  is  plainly  to  be  seen  that  the  eye  of  the 
world  is  fixed  on  this  matter  of  living  ; 
an  art  it  is  getting  to  be  called.  It  has 
never  yet  seriously  engaged  the  attention  of 
the  people.  It  is  a  new  subject,  and  not 
yet  fairly  before  us.  The  Greeks  gave  great 
heed  to  the  individual  body,  and  the  Ro- 
mans secured  personal  cleanliness  by  their 
vast  system  of  baths,  but  neither  seem 
to  have  had  any  conception  of  the  public 
health ;  hence,  with  all  their  fine  training 
and  care  of  the  body,  their  cities  were  sub- 
ject to  pestilence,  and  the  average  of  life 
remained  at  a  low  point.  The  only  success- 
\\\\  attempt  yet  made  to  connect  hygiene 
with  the  social  order  was  made  by  Moses, 


126  HEALTH. 

who  interwove  its  requirements  with  those 
of  religion.  If  this  critical  generation  could 
be  diverted  for  a  moment  from  the  "mis- 
takes of  Moses "  to  some  thought  of  his 
measures  that  were  not  mistakes,  it  wonld 
find  itself  in  possession  of  some  very  sug- 
gestive facts.  No  nation  has  been  so  ex- 
empt from  contagious  and  hereditary  disease 
as  the  Jews,  or  can  show  vital  statistics  so 
favorable,  or  oftener  blossoms  out  into  a 
great  original  mind.  There  is  no  question 
but  this  racial  vitality  and  toughness  and 
exuberance  is  due  to  certain  hygienic  rules 
that  Moses  made  effective  and  lasting  by 
connecting  them  with  religion,  where,  in- 
deed, they  belong.  But,  aside  from  the 
Jews  (and  in  how  many  respects  are  they 
an  exceptional  people  !),  the  art  of  health 
is  a  new  subject.  It  is  a  singular  fact  tliat 
when  men  first  reflectively  examined  them- 
selves they  began  with  their  moral  nature, 
then  passed  to  their  minds,  and  that  is  aa 
far  as  they  have  got.  Strange  as  it  seems, 
it  is  the  natural  order,  and  shadows  a  tre- 
mendous truth,  —  morals  first,  mind  next, 
body  last.  It  is  the  eternal  and  fit  order. 
Aristotle  mapped  out  philosophy  and  morals 
in  lines  the  world  yet  accepts  in  the  main. 


HEALTH  127 

but  he  did  not  know  the  difference  between 
the  nerves  and  the  tendons.  Rome  had  a 
sound  system  of  jurisprudence  before  it  had 
a  physician,  using  onl}^  priestcraft  for  heal- 
ing. Cicero  was  the  greatest  lawyer  the 
world  has  seen,  but  there  was  not  a  man  in 
Rome  who  could  have  cured  him  of  a  colic. 
The  Greek  was  an  expert  dialectician  when 
he  was  using  incantations  for  his  diseases. 
As  late  as  when  the  Puritans  were  enun- 
ciating their  lofty  principles,  it  was  gener- 
ally held  that  the  king's  touch  would  cure 
scrofula.  Governor  Winthrop,  of  colonial 
days,  treated  "  small-pox  and  all  fevers " 
by  a  powder  made  from  "  live  toads  baked 
in  an  earthen  pot  in  the  open  air."  And 
even  now,  in  New  England,  where  we  split 
hairs  in  theology,  and  can  show  a  philos- 
opher for  every  square  mile,  at  least  one 
half  of  the  treatment  of  disease  is  empir- 
ical ;  that  is,  there  is  no  ascertained  relation 
between  the  remedy  and  the  sickness  ;  it  is 
largely  a  matter  of  advertisement  and  pre- 
tense. But  a  new  day  is  dawning.  Legis- 
lation is  crowding  the  quack  into  the  back- 
ground, and  the  Board  of  Health  is  coming 
to  the  front. 

The  old  Greeks  put  health  so  high  as  to 


128  HEALTH. 

deify  it.  Hygeia  was  a  goddess,  young  aud 
Bmiling  and  beautiful.  We  are  catching 
glimpses  of  her  laughing  face,  and  erelong 
we  shall  deify  her.  It  is  a  part  of  our  sin 
that  we  are  sick ;  it  is  a  part  of  religious 
duty  to  be  well. 

I  say  all  this  to  young  men  because  it  is 
well  that  they  should  be  awake  to  the  new 
phases  of  society  that  are  coming  on.  Tho 
special  subjects  to  which  intelligent  men 
should  have  their  eyes  open  are  those  per- 
taining to  social  science,  the  sanitary  con- 
dition of  towns  and  cities,  all  matters  of 
drainage,  ventilation,  water-supply,  house- 
building, as  well  as  matters  pertaining  to 
personal  health  and  vigor.  If  any  educated 
young  man  is  looking  about  for  a  hobby,  let 
me  suggest  that  here  is  one  that  he  can  ride 
to  better  purpose  than  any  other  now  to  be 
laid  hold  of. 

But  the  personal  side  of  the  subject  is  the 
one  we  have  before  us.  Evidently,  nothing 
can  be  more  personal,  more  literally  and 
etrictly  vital,  than  bodily  health.  It  is  the 
first  and  the  perpetual  condition  of  success. 
In  any  enterprise  there  are  primary  and 
secondary  conditions  affecting  the  result 
In  making  a  voyage  it  is  necessary  first  of 


HEALTH.  129 

all  to  have  a  ship  that  will  float  and  hold 
together  till  the  port  is  gained ;  it  may- 
spread  more  or  less  canvas,  be  manned  by 
few  or  many  sailors,  be  navigated  with 
more  or  less  skill,  be  fast  or  slow,  be  driven 
by  wind  or  steam,  —  these  are  secondary 
matters ;  the  ship  itself,  staunch  enough 
to  resist  the  waves,  is  the  primary  condi- 
tion of  the  voyage.  So  in  this  enterprise 
and  voyage  of  life,  a  body  sound  enough 
to  hold  together  till  the  port  of  three- 
score and  ten  is  gained  comes  first,  in 
all  wise  and  logical  consideration.  Tal- 
ents, learning,  aptitude,  good  chances, 
energy,  —  these,  according  to  the  degree, 
affect  the  voyage,  and  make  it  smooth  or 
rough,  quick  or  slow,  but  they  do  not  de- 
termine whether  or  not  there  shall  be  a 
voyage.  I  do  not  say  that  these  are  to  be 
regarded  lightly,  or  other  than  as  great 
helps,  but  I  affirm  that  without  bodily 
health  they  are  in  vain  so  far  as  achieve- 
ment is  concerned.  Energy,  purpose,  cult* 
ure,  enthusiasm,  thrift, — these  are  the 
engine  that  propel  the  man ;  but  an  engine 
requires  first  of  all  proper  bearings,  a 
(rame  stout  enough  to  endure  the  strain  of 
its  vibrations,  and  to  convert  its  energy  into 


130  HEALTH. 

steady  motion.  Professor  Huxley  goes  too 
far,  however,  as  he  is  very  prone  to  do, 
when  he  says,  "  Give  a  man  a  good  deep 
chest  and  a  stomach  of  which  he  never 
knew  the  existence,  and  a  boy  must  succeed 
in  any  practical  career."  For  it  is  a  fact 
that  a  vast  number  of  very  woi'thless  beings 
fulfill  these  conditions  ;  "  animated  patent 
digesters,"  Carlyle  calls  them,  whose  only 
achievements  are  the  consumption  of  food 
and  oxygen.  Brain  and  race  and  training 
have  something  to  do  with  success  in  prac- 
tical careei's.  The  captain  on  the  bridge, 
the  pilot  at  the  wheel,  and  the  engineer  at 
the  lever  are  conditions  of  the  successful 
voyage,  though  the  staunchness  of  the  ship 
may  be  the  primary  condition. 

It  needs  but  a  glance,  however,  at  the 
men  who  have  succeeded  in  any  depart- 
ment to  perceive  that,  as  a  rule,  they 
have  good  bodies.  I  do  not  say  that  all 
men  who  have  achieved  success  have  lived 
long,  or  been  free  from  disease,  but  I  assert 
that  it  is  impossible  to  name  a  man  great 
in  any  department  of  life  who  did  not  pos- 
sess what  a  physician  would  call  a  strong 
vitality.  Many  great  men  have  died  early 
tnd  endured  life-long  disease,  but  a  cloge 


HEALTH.  131 

physiological  examination  would  show  that 
they  were  largely  endowed  with  nervoua 
energy  and  usually  with  a  good  muscular 
system.  I  grant  the  rare  exception,  as  a 
skiff  may  by  good  luck  cross  the  Atlantic. 
Nature  is  not  blind.  She  does  not  put 
great  engines  into  weak  ships.  There  is 
a  fallacy  in  the  common  remark  that  the 
mind  is  too  great  for  the  body.  A  great 
mind  may  overwork  and  tear  in  pieces  even 
a  good  body,  but,  for  the  most  part,  any 
body  properly  used  and  superintended  is 
strong  enough  to  uphold  and  do  the  work 
of  the  mind  lodged  in  it.  Man  is  one  ;  no 
line  can  be  drawn  between  the  working 
functions  of  body  and  mind.  A  part  of  all 
mental  action  is  also  physical  action.  Will 
is  also  a  matter  of  nerves,  energy  is  gradu- 
ated by  the  blood,  and  the  finest  thought 
stands  with  one  foot  upon  tissue  of  brain. 
By  its  very  definition  high  thought  and 
\arge  achievement  imply  a  strong  physical 
basis.  Burns  died  at  thirty-seven,  and 
Byron  at  thirty-six,  both  of  dissipation, 
but  they  had  superb  bodies,  and,  at  first, 
exuberant  health.  Raphael  and  Robertson 
died  at  the  same  age  with  Burns,  —  one  of 
malarial  fever,  and   the  other  from  over« 


132  HEALTH. 

work  and  worry,  —  neither  from  physical 
necessity.  Dr.  Busbnell  early  induced  con- 
Bumption  by  excessive  toil,  but  lived  toiling 
on  to  seventy.  When  great  men  die  early 
it  is  nearly  always  due  either  to  abuse,  or 
to  something  like  an  accident,  for  some 
diseases  bear  no  relation  to  physical  con- 
stitution. But  great  men  do  not  die  early. 
Dr.  Dungllson  says  that  the  average  lon- 
gevity of  the  most  eminent  philosophers, 
naturalists,  artists,  jurists,  physicians,  mu- 
sical composers,  scholars,  and  authors,  in- 
cluding poets  who  are  not  thought  to  be 
long-lived,  is  sixty-six  years,  —  more  than 
double  the  average  length  of  humau  life. 
Such  facts  are  usually  regarded  as  showing 
that  intellectual  pursuits  are  favorable  to 
longevity,  but  they  rather  show  that  great 
men  have  good  bodies.  A  fine  engine  is 
favorable  to  the  speed  and  safety  of  the 
voyage,  but  quite  as  much  depends  upon 
the  build  of  the  vessel,  and  even  more  upon 
how  both  are  handled. 

If  now  we  look  over  the  men  who  are 
considered  successful  in  their  dej^artments, 
—  professional,  manufacturing,  commercial, 
financial,  —  we  sliall  find,  with  rarest  excep 
lion,  that  they  have  certain  physical  char 


HEALTH.  133 

acteristics  which  are  the  primary  conditions 
of  a  strong  body  and  sound  health.  They 
measure  large  around  the  chest ;  they  have 
depth  of  lung  and  good  stomachs ;  their 
muscular  system  is  large  and  strong,  or,  if 
small,  it  is  fine  in  fibre  and  well  knit  to- 
gether ;  they  have  a  larger  brain  than  the 
average,  and  are  without  hereditary  disease 
that  early  impairs  the  chief  functions.  I  do 
not  say  that  every  man  who  has  these  char- 
acteristics achieves  distinction,  but  that  no 
man  achieves  any  considerable  success  who 
is  without  them.  There  will  always  be 
found  a  certain  proportion  of  Carlyle's  "  an- 
imated patent  digesters "  with  a  perfect 
physical  make-up,  but  lacking  in  ways  that 
do  not  concern  us  here.  Mr.  Webster  re- 
quired to  have  his  hats  made  for  hira  on 
account  of  the  size  of  his  head.  The  hatters 
will  tell  you  of  many  cases  in  which  there 
is  no  other  likeness  to  the  great  senator. 

You  will  also  find  that  the  measure  of 
success  usually  is  determined  by  the  manner 
in  which  the  owner  of  this  well-endowed 
body  treats  it.  If  the  functional  power  of 
kmgs,  or  stomach,  or  nerves,  is  broken  down 
—  often  one  and  the  same  process  —  be 
ceases  in  exact  ratio  to  be  an  achiever.    His 


134  HEALTH. 

plans  may  go  on  themselves,  but  the  fresh 
creative  energy  is  graduated  by  his  bodily 
condition.  Force  no  longer  goes  into  his 
schemes  if  it  has  passed  out  of  his  body. 

Your  physically  weak  man  may  get 
through  life  decently  and  honorably,  but  he 
never  gets  to  be  the  head  of  anything,  fore- 
man, or  superintendent,  or  agent,  or  presi- 
dent ;  he  never  climbs,  he  never  gets  out  of 
the  crowd. 

I  do  not  expect  any  denial  or  doubt  on 
these  points,  and  have  set  them  down  only 
to  get  you  to  thinking  on  the  subject.  I 
fear,  however,  lest  a  nearly  universal  illusion 
may  break  its  force.  The  first  boast  of 
childhood  reaches  a  long  way  into  manhood. 
However  thin  of  limb  and  narrow  of  chest, 
the  young  man  is  always  strong.  The  glory 
that  men  have  ever  put  upon  physical 
strength,  and  our  instinctive  sense  of  its 
excellence,  so  press  upon  us  that  we  hate  to 
confess  our  lack  of  it.  Hence  my  readers 
may  be  saying,  "  This  is  not  for  me,  but  for 
the  weakly  ones,"  who  are  not  anywhere 
10  bo  found.  Disenchantment  is  painful, 
but,  in  truth,  every  one  is  not  a  Hercules. 
The  practical  harm  of  this  illusion  is  that 
(ve  presume  upon  it,  and  infer  that  we  can 


HEALTH.  135 

endure  any  strain  we  may  lay  upon   our- 
selves. 

But  what  of  athleticism  ?  Mr.  Hughes, 
its  apostle,  tells  us  in  his  last  book  that  it 
has  come  to  be  OTerpraised  and  overvalued. 
It  is  undoubtedly  a  fine  thing,  but  it  has  led 
to  an  oversight  of  the  wiser  side  of  the  mat- 
ter, namely,  the  preservation  and  care  of 
the  health,  which  is  not  entirely  the  same 
thing  as  physical  strength.  It  has  also 
reached  a  phase  where  the  element  of  sport 
and  natural  exhilaration  is  taken  out  of  it. 
They  tell  us  that  our  national  vice  is  excess, 
—  that  we  lack  the  sense  of  proportion. 
Base-ball  is  no  longer  a  minister  of  health 
when  a  reporter  sits  by,  and  the  cheers  or 
jeers  of  stake-holders  follow  the  player 
around  the  course.  It  is  unfortunate  that 
this  game,  which  Robert  Collyer  calls  'Hhe 
healthiest  and  handsomest  ever  played,"  has 
been  pushed  to  such  a  feverish  and  wild 
excess  by  stunning  competition  and  accesso- 
ries of  gamblhig.  A  game  loses  its  value  to 
health  when  its  excitement  is  drawn  from 
any  other  source  than  from  the  game  itself. 
Stakes  mean  something  more  than  healthful 
exhilaration.  Competitive  walking  and  row- 
ing are  even  more  objectionable.     They  not 


186  HEALTH. 

only  engender  positive  disease,  but  the  whole 
atmosphere,  moral  and  social,  is  adverse 
to  health.  Hygeia  does  not  welcome  to  her 
shrine  the  heroes  of  the  bat  and  oar  and 
ring.  These  sports  may  be  used  health- 
wise,  but  as  soon  as  they  involve  the  exer- 
tion called  out  by  great  public  competition 
and  the  excitement  of  wager,  they  no  longer 
minister  to  health.  Unfortunately  the  tem- 
per of  the  age  does  not  favor  moderation. 
The  element  of  play  seems  lost,  and  a  hard 
vulgar  pride  of  superiority  to  have  taken  its 
place.  The  self-sparkling  water  of  natural 
play  is  not  enough,  but  needs  some  devil's- 
powder  of  wager  and  newspaper  report. 

I  think  the  votaries  of  athleticism  run 
into  another  mistake  by  giving  their  interest 
to  one  thing ;  they  can  strike  so  heavy  a 
blow,  lift  such  a  weight,  walk  so  far ;  tliey 
are  strongest  in  wrist,  or  leg,  or  loins. 
Those  have  been  heard  of  whose  superiority 
consists  in  the  amount  of  liquor  they  can 
Btand,  under  some  delusion  that  it  reflects 
credit  on  their  brains,  —  plainly  the  idiotic 
side  of  the  subject. 

But  special  superiority  does  not  consti- 
tute health.  Nothing  seems  finer  physically 
than    the   trained   pugilist,    but   it  is  well 


HEALTH.  137 

understood  that  he  dies  early  and  commonly 
of  consumption.  Health  is  something  dif- 
ferent from  strength ;  it  is  universal  good 
condition ;  it  is  general  vigor ;  it  is  that 
state  of  body  in  which  every  function  works 
well. 

Going  a  little  farther  in  the  way  of  crit- 
icism, too  much  value  is  attached  to  mus- 
cular strength,  and  too  little  to  nervous 
energy.  In  some  respects  identical,  they 
still  represent  distinct  bodily  forces.  One 
is  the  power  that  does,  the  other  endures ; 
one  strikes  a  single  titanic  blow,  the  other 
never  tires ;  one  wins  a  wager,  the  other  wins 
a  fortune  and  a  name.  Physical  strength 
does  not  imply  nervous  energy,  and  though 
nervous  energy  implies  a  good  body,  it  does 
not  require  great  physical  strength.  Secre- 
tary Evarts  is  slender  to  frailness,  but  he 
has  a  nervous  system  that  enables  him  to 
endure  a  harder  and  longer  mental  strain 
than  any  other  lawyer  at  the  bar  of  New 
York. 

The  gymnasiums  at  Yale  and  Amherst 
and  Williams  are  quite  necessary,  and  are 
justified  by  their  results,  but  West  Rock  and 
riolyoke  and  Greylock  are  better.  Climb- 
ing  a  ladder   develops    physical    strength, 


138  HEALTH. 

climbing  a  mountain  feeds  nervous  energy. 
Take  two  students  :  one  can  out-jump,  out- 
climb,  out-lift  his  class ;  tLe  other,  having 
slight  ambitions  of  this  sort,  gets  upon  the 
hills  at  eveiy  chance,  "  cutting "  a  recita- 
tion now  and  then  in  the  ardor  of  his  long 
rambles ;  at  the  end  of  twenty  years  it  will 
be  found  that  the  latter  is  the  healthier 
man. 

In  looking  at  men  of  marked  attainment, 
we  find  almost  invariably  certain  physical 
traits,  but  a  closer  look  reveals  this  subtler 
quality  of  nerve  force  or  vitality.  It  is  this 
that  makes  the  man  what  he  is  as  a  work- 
ing power.  Vitality  is  the  measure  of  suc- 
C(!ss.  What  vitality  is  we  do  not  know. 
We  only  know  that  its  medium  is  the  nerv- 
ous system,  and  that  it  is  fed  and  measured 
by  the  assimilation  of  food  and  air.  It  has 
a  mysterious  side,  turned  away  from  all 
possibility  of  analysis,  like  the  othei  «»ide  of 
the  moon.  We  only  know  that  while  it  is 
not  nerve,  nor  oxygen,  nor  food,  it  is  a  force 
that  works  through  them.  It  may  be  a 
Bpiritual  thing,  yet  something  that  is  grad- 
uated by  its  material  relations.  But,  what- 
ever it  is,  its  degree  or  amount  is  determined 
by  the  ])hy8ical  and  nervous  condition,  iu3  the 


HEALTH.  139 

power  of  a  telescope  is  determined  by  the 
size  of  its  aperture.    Nourish  and  strengthen 
your  muscles  and  nerves  and  you  increase 
your  vitality,  but  it  is  the  vitality  that  does 
tlie  work,  not  the  muscles  or  nerves.     The 
greatest  amount  of  vitality^  —  this  is  your 
requirement,  young  men  !     It  is  a  trifling 
matter  whether  or  not  you  can  row,  or  bat, 
Dr  walk  to  the  admiration  of  a  crowd  and 
of  yourself  ;  but  it  is  a  matter  of  the  great- 
est  moment   that   you    so    use   your   body 
and  regulate  your  life  that  you  shall  have 
your  largest  possible  allowance  of  this  mys- 
terious thing  called  nerve-force,  or  vitality. 
I  am  eager,  however,  to  get  the  subject 
into  a  finer  region  of  appeal.     The  posses- 
sion of  health  should  be  a  matter  of  straight, 
hearty,  honest  ^jn't^e.    I  would  have  one  hold 
himself  ashamed  who  has  not  a  man's  sliare 
of  manly  vitality.    If  Providence  denies  it, 
it  must  be  patiently  endured.     If  one  has 
inherited  feebleness,  let  him   blush  for  his 
ancestors.    If  one  lacks  it  through  personal 
fault,  he  must   not  only  confess  himself  a 
guilty  sinner,  but  guilty  of  a  shameful  sin. 
Hodily  weakness  minimizes  a  man  ;  it  is  a 
subtraction,  a  derogation,  a  maiming  in  every 
part.    It  puts  one  below  the  average,  makes 


140  HE  ALT  n. 

one  fractional,  not  a  full  counter  in  the 
game  of  life,  small  change  to  be  disregarded 
in  social  estimates. 

Despite  the  revival  of  athleticism  and  the 
spread  of  hygienic  knowledge,  the  feeble 
young  man  is  still  to  be  seen,  —  not  rarely ; 
languid,  listless,  hesitating,  forceless,  thin- 
limbed,  narrow-chested,  uncertain,  tremu- 
lous, the  very  thought  of  his  conducting 
a  business  is  a  jest,  though  often  he  can 
drink,  and  smoke,  and  sit  up  of  nights  most 
admirably.  I  would  like  to  reproduce  on 
these  pages  Lockhart's  picture  of  Wilson,  — 
Christopher  North,  —  simply  to  show  what 
a  superb  thing  a  full  vitality  is  :  the  grand- 
est physique  of  any  man  of  his  century,  ro- 
bust, athletic,  broad  across  the  back,  firm 
set  upon  his  limbs  ;  in  complexion  a  genu- 
ine Goth,  with  hair  of  true  Sicarabrian  yel- 
low falling  about  his  shoulders  in  waving 
locks,  his  eyes  of  the  lightest  yet  clearest 
blue,  and  blood  flowing  in  his  cheek  with  as 
firm  a  fervor  as  it  did  in  his  ancestral  Teu- 
tons^ who  rushed  to  battle  with  laughter. 
De  Quincey  says  that  when  Wilson  was 
spending  a  vacation  in  the  Highlands  he 
would  often  run  for  hours  over  the  hills, 
bare-headed,  his  long  yellow  hair  streaming 


HEALTH.  141 

beliind  him,  stretching  out  his  hands  and 
shouting  aloud  in  simple  exultation  of  life. 
There  is  a  man  for  you  —  healthy,  strong, 
vital ! 

To  possess  health  in  this  fashion,  to  stand 
under  the  orderly  heavens  and  amidst 
the  harmonies  of  nature,  light,  air,  earth, 
water,  and  growing  things,  all  working  in 
perfect  unison,  and  feel  that  the  harmony 
reaches  to  you ;  to  feel  that  nature's  laws 
are  fulfilled  in  you  as  well  as  in  tree,  and 
planet,  and  ocean,  —  this  is  to  share  in  the 
joy  that  underlies  nature  and  is  heard  in 
her  unvoiced  hymn.  Nor  is  it  a  smaller 
joy  to  stand  before  life  with  a  consciousness 
of  strength  equal  to  its  emergencies.  The 
most  exquisite  feeling  possible  to  man  is 
the  sense  of  ability  to  overcome  obstacles ; 
to  face  a  wall  and  know  that  you  can  beat 
your  way  through  it ;  to  undertake  an  en- 
terprise "  of  pith  and  moment  "  and  know 
that  you  can  carry  it  through  to  success  ; 
to  come  under  an  inevitable  burden  and 
know  that  you  can  stand  erect.  Facing  life 
in  this  way  is  often  regarded  as  a  matter  of 
mere  spirit ;  but  woe  be  to  the  man  of  spirit 
who  undertakes  great  things  without  a  well- 
iowered    body ;    a   dash,    a   flutter  of    un- 


142  HEAZTH. 

strung  nerves,  ending  in  collapse,  is  all  there 
is  to  relate. 

Carlyle,  in  that  wondrous  wise  talk  of 
his  to  the  students  at  Edinburgh,  said : 
*'  Finally,  I  have  one  advice  to  give  you, 
which  is  practically  of  very  great  impor- 
tance. You  are  to  consider  throughout, 
much  more  than  is  done  at  present,  and 
what  would  have  been  a  very  great  thing 
for  me  if  I  had  been  able  to  consider,  that 
health  is  a  thing  to  be  attended  to  contin- 
ually; that  you  are  to  regard  that  as  the 
very  highest  of  all  temporal  things  for  you. 
There  is  no  kind  of  achievement  you  could 
make  in  the  world  that  is  equal  to  perfect 
health.  What  to  it  are  nuggets  or  mill- 
ions?" Carlyle  here  voices  the  common 
feeling  of  overwhelming,  irreparable  mis- 
take that  vast  numbers  are  called  to  un- 
dergo. Other  mistakes  may  be  overcome. 
Mind  and  moral  nature  are  subject  to  the 
will,  but  a  weakened  body,  who  can  cor- 
rect that  ?  There  are  for  it  no  repentances 
and  forgivings,  but  only  the  stern  order  of 
the  material  world,  reaping  after  the  sow- 
ing. No  pangs  of  physical  suffering  would 
have  wrung  such  words  from  Carlyle,  but 
the  fact  that  lie  had  been  crippled  in  his 


HE  ALT  n.  14S 

w^ork,  that  the  clearness  of  his  vision  had 
been  dimmed,  and  that  a  hue  not  natural 
to  himself  —  a  hue  partial,  distempered,  mo- 
rose —  was  spread  over  all  that  he  had  done. 
It  is  late  before  we  learn  that  the  whole 
of  man  goes  into  his  work.  Poet,  or  ora- 
tor, or  philosopher,  or  man  of  business,  his 
body  follows  him,  and  holds  the  pen,  and 
shapes  the  thought,  and  imparts  its  quality 
to  all  that  he  does  or  says.  An  impaired 
vitality  of  body  impli -s  an  element  of  weak- 
ness in  the  undertaking  to  the  end,  and  no 
heroism  of  spirit,  or  strength  of  will,  or  in- 
dustry can  eliminate  it. 

If  this  discussion  has  had  sufficient  force 
to  excite  an  interest,  it  may  lead  to  the 
definite  question,  How  shall  we  nourish 
this  vitality  and  health  that  Carlyle  calls 
"  the  highest  of  all  temporal  things  "  ?  I 
hesitate  to  enter  this  field,  since  no  writer 
or  speaker  likes  to  antagonize  his  audience. 
Besides,  the  way  is  somewhat  worn,  and  you 
have  been  driven  or  dragged  over  it  so  often, 
And  often  in  so  repulsive  ways,  that  I  hesi- 
tate to  class  myself  with  your  INIentors  on 
this  subject.  Still,  trusting  to  a  good  under- 
standing  hitherto,  I  push  on. 

I   think    the   best   observers  agree   that 


144  HEALTH. 

bodily  vigor  is  a  matter  of  preservation  and 
steady  care,  rather  than  of  special  training. 
That  is,  God  has  given  most  of  us  health ; 
the  main  thing  is  not  to  waste  it.  It  is  not 
something  to  be  achieved,  but  something  to 
be  retained.  If  the  practical  wisdom  of  the 
matter  were  put  into  one  phrase,  I  think  it 
would  be  something  Uke  this  :  Avoid  what- 
ever tends  to  lessen  vitality. 

What  are  the  things  that  do  this  ? 

(1.)  It  would  be  an  unscientific  treat- 
ment of  the  subject,  if  I  did  not  lay  heavy 
emphasis  upon  tobacco^  as  commonly  used. 

As  in  the  chapter  on  Thrift.,  so  here  I 
speak  of  the  use  of  tobacco  in  the  single 
light  of  the  subject  in  hand.  There  seem 
to  me  but  three  main  objections  to  its  use. 
It  is  an  unthrifty  habit ;  it  is  tyrannical, 
and  so  spreads  out  into  the  field  of  morals, 
where  we  will  not  follow  it ;  and  it  is  inju- 
rious to  health.  If  these  three  points  seem 
to  you  to  cover  nearly  the  whole  sphere,  I 
shall  not  deny  it.  Thrift,  morals,  health, — 
they  are  indeed  somewhat  broad  I 

Persons  of  certain  temperament,  and  of 
rough  out-of-door  employment,  may  be  ex- 
ceptions to  the  extent  that  the  injury  is  not 
perceptible.     But  taking  life  as  we  have  it 


HEALTH.  146 

—  with  less  and  less  of  the  phlegmatic  tem- 
perament, and  more  and  more  of  city  life 
and  indoor  occupation,  —  the  tobacco  habit 
must  be  set  down  as  injurious.  It  might  not 
be  so  to  any  great  degree  if  its  use  did  not 
call  into  play  that  subtle  law  of  increase 
that  renders  moderation  a  diflScult  thing  to 
secure.  Logically,  there  can  hardly  be  any 
moderation  in  a  habit  so  related  to  the  will, 
for  the  habit  itself  is  one  of  indulgence^ 
a  field  from  which  the  will  is  shut  out ; 
hence  the  only  limit,  ordinarily,  is  that  im- 
posed by  satiety ;  the  smoker  stops  when 
he  does  not  care  to  smoke  longer. 

But  there  are  physiological  reasons  why 
tobacco  and  alcohol  create  an  increasing  ap- 
petite. They  are  nerve-stimulants  ;  stimu- 
lated nerves  mean  at  last  irritated  nerves, 
and  irritated  nerves  clamor  forever.  And 
being  unnaturally  irritated  and  stung  into 
undue  action  they  lose  their  force,  which  is 
a  loss  of  vitality.  This  is  what  any  physi- 
cian will  tell  you,  namely,  that  tobacco  is  a 
debilitant ;  that  it  weakens  the  nerve  cen- 
tres ;  that  it  lessens  vitality  ;  that  it  sub- 
tracts from  energy  ;  that,  being  weakened, 
"•t  renders  one  more  liable  to  disease ;  that 

vt  engenders  certain  ailments,  and  tends  to 
10 


146  HEALTH. 

induce  a  certain  condition  the  most  remote 
from  that  any  man  could  wish, 

(2.)  The  drinking  habit  is  to  be  set  down 
as  a  great  waster  of  vitality.  The  moderate 
use  of  alcohol  is  a  cheat.  It  is  opposed 
in  its  very  nature  to  moderation.  Mor- 
ally and  physiologically  it  is  keyed  to  the 
opposite  of  moderation.  The  exceptions  are 
the  decoys  without  which  the  evil  would 
bag  no  game. 

But  the  physiologists  are  practically 
agreed  that  even  a  moderate  use  of  alcohol 
is  injurious  to  vitality.  Dr.  Richardson,  of 
London,  says,  "  It  is  the  duty  of  my  profes- 
sion to  show,  as  it  can  show  to  the  most  per- 
fect demonstration,  that  alcohol  is  no  neces- 
sity of  man  ;  that  it  is  out  of  place  when 
used  for  any  other  than  a  medical,  chemical, 
or  artistic  purpose  ;  that  it  is  no  food  ;  that 
it  is  the  most  insidious  destroyer  of  health, 
happiness,  and  life."  He  says  again  : 
"Among  the  chief  sources  of  the  reduction 
of  vitality  to  the  low  figure  at  which  it 
stands,  alcohol  stands  first ;  it  kills  in  the 
present,  it  impairs  the  vital  powers  in  the 
succeeding  generations."  "  If  England  were 
redeemed  from  its  use,"  be  says,  "  the  vital- 
ity of  the  nation  would  rise  one  third  in  its 


HEALTH.  147 

value."  But  the  drinking  habit  in  this  dry, 
nerve-exciting  climate  of  ours  is  far  more 
injurious  than  it  is  in  England.  If  it  there 
reduces  vitality  a  third  in  value,  what  must 
it  do  here  ?  The  simple  fact  for  a  rational 
being  to  consider  and  govern  himself  by  is 
that  every  time  he  drinks  a  glass  of  liquor, 
whatever  its  per  cent,  of  alcohol,  he  les- 
sens his  vitality ;  he  has  just  so  much  less 
power  to  work  with,  less  ability  to  endure, 
less  nervous  force  for  fine  efforts,  less  tough- 
ness to  put  against  difficulties,  less  time  to 
live.  What !  if  it  be  only  beer  ?  Yes  !  the 
verdict  of  science  is  absolute  and  final. 

Does  any  one  sing  the  praises  of  wine? 
Every  generous  heart  has  a  chord  that  vi- 
brates to  that  note ;  but,  after  all,  the  wine 
of  life  is  better  and  more  musical.  Does 
any  one  speak  of  usage  ?  I  protest  by  all 
the  glories  of  humanity  against  a  fashion 
that  overrides  the  welfare  of  humanity. 

(3.)  I  come  to  points  less  emphatic,  less 
familiar,  also,  as  yet,  but  soon  to  engage 
practical  attention.  It  is  not  a  hundred 
years  since  Priestley  discovered  oxygen,  and 
so  run  upon  the  fact  that  air  robbed  of  it 
by  breathing  contains  dangerous  properties, 
•*  truth  that  has  not   yet  reached   general 


148  HEALTH. 

recognition.  Sextons  and  mill-builders,  and 
the  entire  in-door  world,  practically  hold 
that  one  can  live  equally  well  anywhere 
outside  of  a  vacuum.  Oxygen  is  life,  the 
gas  it  liberates  is  death.  When  you  breathe 
air  deficient  in  one  and  over-laden  with  the 
other  you  reduce  vitality,  and  pave  the  way 
for  disease.    The  melancholy  feature  of  mill 

life now  coming  almost  into  supremacy 

in  numbers  —  is  not  low  wages,  but  scant 
oxygen.  An  English  physician  says  that 
'"  health  is  a  thing  absolutely  unknown 
amongst  English  factory  operatives." 

In  this  respect  many  of  you  are  shut  out 
of  any  choice.  I  can  only  say,  value  every 
breath  of  pure  air  you  can  get,  work  in  it 
if  possible,  sleep  in  it  witliout  fail,  hesitate 
to  stay  where  it  is  not,  and,  whenever  it  is 
possible,  drink  it  in  as  it  blows  over  sum- 
mits of  hills,  and  through  moist  woods. 

(4.)  Lack  of  sleep  is  a  great  waster  of 

vitality. 

Carlyle  quotes  the  French  financier  with 
a  sigh  :  "  Why  is  there  no  sleep  to  be  sold  ? 
Sleep  was  not  in  the  market  at  any  price." 
Its  lack  is  the  tragical  feature  of  broken 
health.  "  Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast," 
the  omniscient  poet  calls  it.    Never,  except 


HEALTH.  149 

for  the  most  imperative  reason,  should  one 
break  in  upon  that  sacred  process  for  which 
the  sun  withdraws  itself  and  silence  broods 
over  the  hemisphere.  Its  hours  cannot  be 
safely  changed.  Two  young  men,  equally 
strong,  work  side  by  side  ;  one  sleeps  early 
and  long,  the  other  retires  late  and  irregu 
larly.  Apparently  they  get  on  equally  well, 
but  the  physician  will  tell  you  that  one  is 
drawing  on  his  stock  of  vitality,  while  the 
other  keeps  it  full ;  in  time  one  is  bankrupt 
in  health,  the  other  rich. 

Sleep  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  divine  thing  ; 
it  is  akin  to  creation.  One  should  never 
pass  into  it  without  adoration ;  it  is  a  return 
into  the  hands  of  God  to  be  new-made,  the 
tire  and  age  of  the  day  to  be  taken  out,  and 
freshness  and  youth  wrought  in. 

"  Come,  blessed  barrier  between  day  and  day ; 
Dear  mother  of  fresh  thoughts  and  joyous  health !  " 

Or,  more  tenderly,  with  Allingham  :  — 

"  Sleep  is  like  death,  and  after  sleep 

The  world  seems  new  begun ; 
While  thoughts  stand  luminous  and  firm, 

Like  statues  in  the  sun ; 
Refreshed  from  supersensu7us  founts, 
The  soul  to  clearer  vision  mounts." 

The  physiologist  cannot  explain  it ;  all  he 
«nows  is  that,  in  some  way,  it  renews  vital- 


150  HEALTH. 

ity.  To  tamper  with  it,  to  defraud  it,  to 
take  it  fitfully,  is  to  throw  away  life  itself. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  devote  the  hours  up  to 
midnight  to  work,  or  pleasure,  or  books.  It 
may  be  a  very  innocent  thing  to  dance  at 
the  right  time  and  place,  and  in  the  right 
way  and  company,  but  to  dance  all  night  is 
to  defraud  life  itself.  Compare,  in  any  mat- 
ter requiring  nerve  and  head,  one  who  has 
slept  all  night  with  one  who  has  spent  a 
sleepless  night  and  you  will  get  an  illum- 
inating verdict  on  the  value  of  sleep. 

Business  men  who  have  borne  the  heavy 
cares  of  the  last  twelve  years  will  assent 
when  I  say  that  the  whole  life,  hygienically, 
should  be  ordered  with  regard  to  sleep.  If 
one  can  sleep  he  can  endure  anything,  he  is 
every  day  a  new  man.  Food,  exercise, 
pleasures,  hours,  everything  should  be  sub- 
ordinated to  securing  sleep.  No  revival  of 
troubles,  no  vexing  questions  should  pre- 
cede it.  It  should  be  as  regular  as  the  stars, 
and  like  the  night  itself  in  its  solemn  peace- 
fulness. 

(5.)  I  will  only  name  sound  digestion  as 
fundamental  to  vitality,  it  being  so  well  un- 
derstood. The  deadly  effects  of  frying-pan 
ind  pie  are  no  longer  secrets.  The  hygienista 


HEALTH.  151 

are  steadily  telling  us  in  the  newspapers 
that  we  eat  too  much  and  too  fast,  that  the 
national  cooking  is  bad,  that  narcotics  and 
stimulants  and  bad  air  and  indolence  and 
hurry  and  anxiety  are  foes  of  digestion. 
Professor  Huxley  encounters  no  denial  when 
he  makes  a  good  stomach  a  condition  of  suc- 
cess in  any  practical  career. 

(6.)  Nor  will  you  expect  me  to  do  more 
than  name  those  requirements  of  self-respect, 
as  well  as  of  health,  the  frequent  bath,  and 
that  scrupulous  care  of  the  body  that  reaches 
up  to  religion. 

As  a  piece  of  sanitary  statistics,  bearing 
on  this  and  kindred  points,  I  think  the  civ- 
ilized world  can  offer  nothing  so  remarkable 
as  the  following.  I  insert  it  for  its  suggest- 
iveness,  and  also  because  it  has  not  before 
been  published.  Seventy-five  Chinamen  in 
the  employ  of  C.  T.  Sampson  &  Co.,  of 
North  Adams,  lost  in  four  months  but  eight 
days,  and  no  one  man  lost  a  whole  day, 
showing  an  entire  exemption  from  severe 
sickness  ;  more  than  seventy-eight  hundred 
consecutive  working  days  and  not  an  entire 
day  lost  by  an  individual.  When  taken  in 
connection  with  the  fact  that  these  men 
daily  took  a  sponge-bath,  drank  no  alcohol, 


152  HEALTH. 

slept  early  and  long,  and  ate  good  food,  the 
figures  turn  into  arguments  and  appeals. 

(7.)  There  are  hindrances  to  a  strong 
vitality  that  are  inseparable  from  life  as  it 
comes  to  most  of  us.  Our  working  classes 
labor  harder  and  longer  than  any  other  in 
the  world,  our  business  men  have  longer 
hours,  our  professional  men  give  themselves 
less  rest.  There  is  a  danger  from  over-work 
not  to  be  forgotten  ;  it  is  already  being  felt 
in  a  rapid  increase  of  nervous  diseases  with 
their  irresistible  tendency  to  the  use  of  nar- 
cotics and  stimulants,  and  a  ready  suscepti- 
bility to  malarial  influences.  Our  climate 
does  not  admit  of  so  liard  labor  as  that  of 
England,  but  the  English  operative  works 
but  five  and  a  half  days  to  our  six,  and  the 
professional  and  business  man  begins  late 
and  stops  early,  making  a  sort  of  Sabbath 
of  his  evening. 

(8.)  Nothing  moi-e  surely  cuts  away  and 
undermines  the  vital  forces  than  worry  and 
anxiety,  however  caused.  Happily,  trouble 
is  not  native  nor  lasting  in  youth  —  touch- 
ing it  but  lightly:  — 

'  As  night  to  him  that  sitting  on  a  hill 
Sees  the  midsummer,  midnight,  Norway  son 
Set  into  sunrise." 


HEALTH.  153 

But  a3  we  descend  from  these  glorious 
heights  we  encounter  the  inevitable  cares 
and  anxieties  that  are  involved  in  the  in- 
creased relations  of  life.  It  is  a  large  part 
of  what  Sir  Thomas  Browne  calls  "  the 
militia  of  life  "  to  see  to  it  that  these  cares 
do  not  break  up  the  order  either  of  soul 
or  body.  The  practical  lesson  here  is  both 
religious  and  prudential.  It  says,  live  care- 
fully, avoid  needless  entanglements,  don't 
compromise  youreelf,  keep  a  good  conscience, 
have  nothing  in  your  life  that  requires  con- 
cealment. Burdens  and  cares  a  man  must 
have,  but  a  true  and  simple  habit  of  life, 
held  to  loftily  and  devoutly,  will  keep  them 
from  harming  body  or  soul. 

(9.)  My  last  suggestion  will,  perhaps, 
have  more  novelty  than  any  other  before 
named.  The  passions  of  anger,  hatred, 
grief,  and  fear  are  usually  considered  as  be- 
longing to  morals,  but  Dr.  Richardson  puts 
them  amongst  the  influences  most  destruc- 
tive of  vitality.  "  The  strongest,"  he  says, 
"  cannot  afford  to  indulge  in  them."  Shake- 
speare, whom  nothing  escapes,  speaks  of 
envy  as  "  lean-faced." 

"  Heat  not  a  furnace  for  your  foes  90  hot 
That  it  do  singe  yourself." 


154  HEALTH. 

When  these  great  passions  burn,  the  oil 
of  life  is  rapidly  spent.  Hence,  divine  wis- 
dom forbids  hatred  and  anger,  and  divine 
love  heals  our  griefs  and  fears,  as  hurtful 
alike  to  body  and  soul. 

I  cannot  better  end  these  suggestions 
than  by  quoting  some  words  of  Bacon, 
whose  wisdom  seems  to  comprehend  every 
subject  he  touches.  As  if  speaking  to 
young  men,  he  says,  "  It  is  a  safer  conclu- 
sion to  say,  '  This  agreeth  not  well  with 
me,  therefore  I  will  not  continue  it,'  than 
this  :  '  I  find  no  offense  (or  hurt)  of  this, 
therefore  I  may  use  it ; '  that  is,  don't  wait 
till  you  are  hurt  by  a  habit  before  giving  it 
up,  but  find  out  its  ordinary  tendency,  and 
act  accordingly." 


VII. 

READIXa. 


•Bring  with  thee  the  books."  —  St.  Paui- 

"These  young  obscure  years  ought  to  be  increasingly 
employed  in  gaining  a  l^^nowledge  of  things  worth  knowing ; 
especially  of  heroic  human  souls  worth  knowing."  —  Car- 

LYLE. 

"  'T  would  be  endless  to  tell  you  the  things  that  he  knew 
All  separate  facts,  undeniably  true, 
But  with  him  or  each  other  they'd  nothing  to  do ; 
No  power  of  combining,  arranging,  discerning, 
Digested  the  masses  he  learned  into  learning." 

A  Fah^  for  Crilics. 

"No  man  can  read  with  profit  that  which  he  cannot  learn 
to  read  with  pleasure."  —  President  Porter. 


VII 

READING. 

The  universal  distribution  of  books  has 
given  rise  to  a  new  and  distinct  ambition 
that  may  be  described  as  a  desire  for  intel- 
lectuality. To  be  intellectual,  or  to  be  re- 
garded as  such,  is  certainly  among  the  am- 
bitions of  modern  society.  The  logic  of  it 
is  plain :  men  do  not  like  to  be  out  of  rela- 
tions to  great  facts.  The  prominent  figure, 
the  strong  party,  the  new  discovery,  fixes 
their  attention  and  enlists  their  sympathies. 
Napoleon,  simply  by  his  outstanding  great- 
ness as  a  phenomenon,  commands  a  hom- 
age from  which  our  judgment  dissents.  The 
dignity  and  sense  of  reality  that  Milton 
throws  about  Satan  has  secured  for  Lim 
what  may  even  be  called  respect. 

Boohs  are  the  great  fact  of  modern  civili- 
zation, its  finest  expression  and  summation. 
If  we  were  to  send  to  the  next  planetary 
neighbor  our  most  representative  thing  I 


J^58  READING. 

think  it  would  be  a  book  —  Shakespeare,  or 
the  New  Encyclopsedia.     But  books  stand 
for   intellect;   their  source,   their  method, 
their  reception  is  in  the  intellect.     Thus, 
the  whole   atmosphere   about   them  being 
intellectual   they  have   come  to  stand   for 
the  thuig  itself,  and  to  imply  its  possession 
on  the  part  of  all  concerned  with  them.';    It 
seems  an  incongruity  when  an  ignorant  per- 
son sells  us  a  book.     No  one  can  afford,  to 
ignore  this  great  latter-day  fact.     You  will 
need  to  drop  somewhat  below  the  average 
of   our  American   culture  before  you  will 
find  one  who  does  not  claim  something  of 
the  spirit  that  surrounds  books;  very  ill- 
founded,  it  may  be,  but  very  devoutly  en- 
tertained.    There  is  almost  no  conception 
of  intellectuality  apart  from  them  ;  to  know 
them  is  to  be  intellectual. 

There  may  be  some  crudeness  and  misap- 
prehension in  this,  but,  on  the  whole,  it  is 
praiseworthy.  It  marks  the  full  transition 
from  animal  to  man.  It  points  the  way  to 
better  things,  for  when  the  masses  actu- 
ally  think,  all  else  of  which  the  moralist 
dreams  and  the  saint  prays,  will  follow. 
Thought  is  the  crucible  in  which  all  things 
Bre  resolved  and  separated  to  their  true  is 


Bues. 


READING.  159 

What  shall  I  read  ?  Such  is  the  ques- 
tion everywhere  put  by  this  new  ambition. 
The  question  does  not  seem  to  me  a  difficult 
one,  like  that  of  amusements,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  too  easy  to  admit  of  much  discus- 
sion. It  is  like  standing  in  an  orchard 
laden  with  fruit ;  it  is  not  a  matter  of 
choice,  but  of  falling-to,  and  taking  the 
best.  .  The  worm-eaten,  the  wind-blasted, 
the  rotten,  will  of  course  be  passed  by. 

I  am  not  sure  that  any  rule  is  of  very 
great  use  except  one,  and  that  shall  be 
negative :  namely,  read  no  books  but  the 
best.  But  this  negative  rule  covers  a  vast 
field.  The  bad  or  indifferent  books  are 
more  than  the  good ;  and  reading,  of  course, 
bears  the  same  proportion.  A  book  once 
represented  the  inspiration  and  thought  of 
its  author ;  to-day  it  represents  a  price 
paid.  The  change  and  perversion  is  im- 
mense. The  standard  and  spirit  of  litera- 
ture are  not  drawn  from  genius  and  intelli- 
gence, but  from  the  tastes  and  conceptions 
of  the  masses,  —  an  inversion  that  demands 
unending  protest.  When  the  author  abdi- 
cates in  favor  of  the  reader  there  is  an 
end  of  literature.  Even  in  children's  books 
there  is  no  need  of  descent.     A  child  re- 


IQQ  BEADING. 

quires  only  plainness,  never  a  dropping 
down.  The  great  masterpieces  in  this  lit- 
erature —  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  Hans  An- 
dersen's Stories  and  those  of  our  own 
Andersen,  Mr.  Scudder,  —  "  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia," "  Picciola," —  "  Arabian  Nights" 
—  appeal  equally  to  young  and  old  ;  one 
never  suspects  in  them  that  the  author  ha? 
left  his  highest  plane.  To  make  this  dis- 
tinction between  the  legitimate  and  the 
false  is  difficult  until  one's  taste  and  judg- 
ment are  established.  But  there  are  cer- 
tain rules  that  come  nigh  to  the  matter. 

(1.)  Resolutely  avoid  the  immoral  litera- 
ture that  flood  the  news-stalls.     One  who 
reads  in    this  direction   reads  himself   into 
moral   chaos   and   darkness;   it   is   an   un- 
knowing,   uneducating   process.     There   is 
something   peculiarly    destructive    in    that 
knowledge  of  evil  which  comes  through  a 
book  or  picture.  The  direct  sight  and  sound 
of  it  do  not  so  wound  and  blast  as  does  that 
apprehension  of  it  gained  by  reading.     It 
thus  seems   to   get   into  the  mind  ;  it  en- 
trenches itself  in  the  imagination,  where  it 
tttays  and  multiplies  itself,  breeding  through 
the  fancy,  turning   these  noblest   faculties 
irto  ministers  of  perdition. 


READING.  161 

"  Where  such  fairies  once  have  danced 
No  grass  will  ever  grow." 

(2.)  Thei'e  is  a  class  of  periodicals, 
weekly  and  monthly,  of  a  higher  grade, 
printed  in  heavy  type  and  with  coarse, 
startling  illustrations,  and  filled  with  stories. 
It  is  hard  to  determine  whether  the  paper, 
the  type,  the  illustrations,  or  the  matter,  is 
the  shabbiest;  all  wear  the  broadest  badge 
of  vulgarity.  Not  the  worst  feature  is 
their  cheapness.  They  are  not  often  im- 
moral, but  they  lack  absolutely  and  utterly 
ever}'  positive  element  of  true  literature. 
Their  effect  might  be  described  as  mental 
obliteration.  For  reading  may  be  an  un- 
educating  process,  and  lead  to  a  reversal 
of  this  intellectuality  of  which  we  spoke. 
When  the  mind  is  steadily  addressed  in  a 
low  and  untrue  way,  when  it  is  constantly 
excited  by  false  emotions  and  set  to  acting 
in  unreasonable  ways,  it  loses  its  power  to 
guide  and  serve ;  flabby^  perhaps,  is  the  best 
word  to  describe  it. 

I  say,  not  only  do  not  read  this  rubbish, 

but  read  nothing  in  preference.     The  mind 

will   be  stronger  if   left  to  itself  and  the 

unlettered  literature  of  sky,  and  field,  and 

forest,  or  even  street,  where,  at  least,  you 
11 


;[62  READING. 

will  see  true  men  and  women,  and  real 
transactions.  Rather  than  spend  your  Sun- 
days with  these  sheets,  go  into  the  hills, 
and  hear  what  the  winds  and  birds  have  to 

say. 

(3.)  There  is  a  class  of  books  known  as 
the  novels  of  the  day;  novels  of  adventure, 
of   society,   and    of   high-wrought   passion. 
As   a  rule  they  are  to  be  avoided  on  the 
same  ground  that  you  decline  to  buy  a  fair- 
looking  garment  when  you  have  reason  to 
believe  that  its  wool  is  shoddy  and  its  silk 
is  cotton.     It  is  true  that  a  great  novel  may 
contain  exciting  adventure ;  in  itself  there 
ia  no  harm  in  thrilling  events,  for  all  fact 
runs  off  into  surprise.     A  great  novel  may 
depict  society,  and  it  is  always  animated  by 
a  great  passion,  but  it  will  be  true  in  each 
of   these  respects.     Such  books   are   rare ; 
you  may  count  their  authors  on  your  two 
hands.     Nothing  can  make   a   book  worth 
reading  in  which  the  delineation  of  motives 
and  conduct  is  false  to  reality  and  nature. 
If  tlie  adventure  is  excessive,  if  the  dehnea- 
tion  of  society  consists  of  human  frailty  and 

In  set  in  any  other  light  than  of  condemna- 
tion, if  that  is  set  forth  as  common  which  is 
exceptional,  if  the  sentiment  is  morbid,  if 


READING.  163 

the  frailties  of  genius  are  made  to  override 
the  homely,  every-day  virtues,  if  exceptions 
are  made  in  favor  of  immorality,  if  the 
whims  of  the  author  are  set  down  as  laws 
of  conduct,  —  let  all  such  books  go  unread. 
Among  many  good  reasons,  the  main  one  is 
that  these  characteristics  have  a  common 
root  of  untruth,  while  the  first  and  absolute 
requisite  of  a  book  is  that  it  shall  be  true. 
Nothing  but  truth  can  feed  the  mind  —  as 
nothing  else  can  please  it,  if  it  is  a  healthy 
mind.  It  is  truth  that  makes  the  essential 
greatness  of  a  book,  —  holding  the  mirror 
up  to  nature,  getting  the  reality  of  things 
before  the  reader.  Great  masses  of  books, 
nearly  all  the  novels  of  the  day,  yield  be- 
fore this  fundamental  criticism.  Tliey  have 
one  or  both  of  two  characteristics  ;  tlie  plot 
turns  upon  a  restlessness  under,  or  viola- 
tion of,  marriage,  or  the  tone  is  pessimistic, 
namely,  holding  evil  to  be  the  law  of  society. 
Occasionally  a  sweet,  healthy  novel  slips 
Irom  the  press,  like  one  of  Mrs.  Stowe's,  or 
Mrs.  Craik's,  or  MacDonald's,  or  Mrs.  Whit- 
ney's, —  but  the  great  mass  are  such  as  I 
have  described.  These  books  do  not  hold 
the  mirror  up  to  nature,  or  to  society,  or  to 
Uie  real  currents  of  human  thought ;  they 


164  READING. 

mirror  the  distorted  notions  of  very  con- 
ceited persons  of  very  sliabby  principles, 
who  find  it  easier  to  write  down  their  own 
vaporings  than  to  study  nature  and  so- 
ciety. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  know  that  a  vast 
number  of  persons  read  little  else  but  such 
books  as  these.  The  frequent  domestic  trag- 
edy, the  discontent,  the  sentimentality,  and 
general  hystericalness  of  thought  and  man- 
ners, are  largely  due  to  this  overwi'ought  and 
shallow  literature.  It  not  only  weakens  the 
fibre  of  the  mind,  but  it  induces  a  low  stand- 
ard of  taste  in  everything  else  —  amuse- 
ments, religion,  society. 

But,  you  ask,  how  shall  we  know  the 
good  books  from  the  bad  ?  Just  as  you  dis- 
tinguish between  persons,  by  reputation  and 
acquaintance.  You  are  cautious  in  regard 
to  your  company  ;  you  make  no  acquaint- 
ance except  on  the  strength  of  a  proper  in- 
troduction or  general  reputation.  Use  the 
same  rule  with  books.  There  is  no  neces- 
sity of  reading  the  last  new  novel.  If  you 
have  any  secret  vanity  in  literary  things,  to 
ivhich  I  do  not  object,  let  me  say  (in  a 
whisper)  that  the  proper  thing  is  not  to 
read  the  last  new  book ;  if  you  are  tempted 


READINO.  165 

to  do  so  avoid  mention  of  it,  unless  you 
would  be  thought  a  parve7iu  in  these  high 
realms.  If  your  friend  who  "  reads  all  the 
new  books  "  is  patronizingly  surprised  that 
you  have  not  seen  Zola,  or  Ouida's  last,  in- 
quire how  long  since  he  has  read  "  Henry 
Esmond,"  and  the  blush  will  be  on  the 
otlier  cheek.  An  author  very  soon  gets  a 
reputation ;  go  by  it  and  make  no  advent- 
ures amongst  the  unknown.  One  should 
find  his  way  in  the  literary  world  as  he 
learns  geography,  by  maps,  and  not  by  first- 
hand explorations.  Emerson  says.  Wait  a 
year  before  reading  a  new  book  ;  and  Low- 
ell:— 

"Reading  new  books  is  like  eating  new  bread, 
One  can  bear  it  at  first,  but  bv  gradual  steps  he 
Is  brought  to  death's  door  of  a  mental  dyspepsy." 

Occasionally  an  author  enters  at  once  into 
an  assured  and  commanding  place,  as  Ebers, 
who  a  year  ago  was  nearly  unknown  in  fic- 
tion, but  is  to  be  read  with  confidence. 

What  of  newspapers  and  magazines  ? 
Read  the  former  as  a  matter  of  business  and 
necessity,  and  expect  no  advantage  from 
<Jaem  except  as  they  report  to  you  current 
events.  I  must  know  what  is  going  on  in 
the  world,  I  buy  the  newspaper  to  tell  me, 


^^^  READING. 


and  for  no  other  reason.     If  the  keen-eyed 
editor  puts  a  few  of  the  events  together 
and  says  they  point  in  this  or  that  direction,' 
1  thank  him,  but  keep  a  look-out  for  myself. 
r  ask  of  him  chiefly  facts,  events,  the  daily 
hiotory  of  the  globe.     As  a  mental   disci- 
pline,  the  reading  of  newspapers  is  hurtful. 
What  can  be  worse  for  the  mind  than  to 
think  of  forty  things  in  ten  minutes  ?     It 
IS  commonly  understood  that  the  great  ed- 
itors pursue  a  definite  course  of  continuous 
study  for  the  sake  of  mental  integrity,  and 
as  a  defense  against  the  dissipation  of  their 
daily  work. 

Magazines,   the    monthlies   and  quarter- 
lies, fall   into  a  different  category.     They 
often  contain  solid  and  thorough  pieces  of 
thought  and  information,  and  are  the  chan- 
nels of  much  of  the  best  current  literature. 
But  beware  of  the  magazine  story,  except 
It  be  from  a  master ;  and  as  for  serials  —  to 
read  a  good  story  thus  is  a  self-inflicted  cru- 
tlty. 

And  what  of  the  novel  ?  Almost  the  only 
linnts  left  about  novel-reading  are  those 
of  hkos  and  dislikes,  rules  and  standards 
everywhere  else,  but  none  here.  Highly 
luoiul  i,eople  read  very  immoral  books  ;  ro 


READING.  167 

fined  people  read  vulgar  ones  ;  fastidious 
people  welcome  to  their  minds  characters 
whom  they  would  turn  out  of  their  parlors. 
Children  go  to  school  for  study  and  come 
home  to  serials,  a  veritable  Penelope's-web 
process.  The  whole  matter  is  at  very  loose 
ends,  and  needs  to  be  brought  under  some 
law  of  reason  and  consistency. 

As  a  first  step  in  this  direction,  read  but 
few  novels,  and  with  carefulest  selection, 
and  at  decided  intervals  of  time. 

I  would  have  two  objects  in  view,  va- 
rying them  according  to  the  end,  namely, 
amusement,  and  knowledge  of  life. 

Every  hard  worker  is  entitled  to  a  holi- 
day now  and  then.  Treat  yourself  to  a 
novel  as  you  take  a  pleasure  trip,  and,  be- 
cause you  do  it  rarely,  let  it  be  a  good  one. 
We  have  a  friend  who  prays  that  his  life 
may  be  spared  till  he  has  read  all  of  the 
Waverley;  for  he  will  not  dull  his  interest 
in  one  by  soon  taking  up  another.  Having 
selected  your  novel  with  something  of  the 
care  you  would  choose  a  wife,  give  yourself 
yp  to  it ;  lend  to  its  fancy  the  wings  of  your 
own  imagination  ;  revel  in  it  without  re- 
straint ;  drink  its  wine ;  keep  step  with  its 
passion  ;  float  on  its  tide,  whether  it  glides 


168  RE  AD  IN  a. 

serenely  to  happy  ends,  or  sweeps  dark  and 
tumultuous  to  tragic  destinies. 

Such  reading  is  not  only  a  fine  recrea- 
tion, but  of  highest  value,  especially  to  busi- 
ness men.  It  cultivates  what  the  American 
lacks  by  nature,  and  doubly  lacks  through 
social  atmosphere,  namely,  sentiment;  by 
which  I  mean  responsiveness  to  the  higher 
and  finer  truths. 

But  the  main  use  of  the  novel  is  to  un- 
fold character  and  society ;  this  is  its  voca- 
tion, —  to  depict  life.  It  may  be  historical, 
domestic,  social,  psychological,  political,  or 
religious,  but  its  theme  is  life.  Its  value 
consists  in  the  fidelity  of  the  picture  and 
the  literary  charm  with  which  it  is  invested. 
When  I  read  a  novel  of  Thackeray  my 
knowledge  of  man  is  increased.  I  get 
broader  views  of  humanity.  I  see  what  a 
wide,  deep,  complex  thing  life  is.  Hence  I 
will  read  no  novels  but  the  best,  since  they 
alone  can  show  me  life  as  it  is  ;  and  above 
all  things  I  must  not  think  of  life  falsely. 
We  might  live  virtuously  while  holding 
that  the  world  is  flat,  but  not  if  we  were 
deceived  as  to  the  shape  and  proportions  of 
man.  Ptolemaic  astronomy  were  better 
than  unnatural  fiction. 


READn\G.  169 

If  you  ask  who  these  best  novelists  are, 
I  will  venture  to  name  those  who,  at  least, 
bead  the  column.  Pardon  the  dry  list : 
Scott,  Cooper,  Thackeray,  Mrs.  Stowe, 
Dickens,  "  George  Eliot,"  Hawthorne,  Mac- 
Donald,  Miss  Bronte,  Miss  Edgeworth, 
Mrs.  Whitney,  Jane  Austen,  Bulwer,  Lever, 
Mrs.  Gaskell,  Trollope,  Charles  Kingsley, 
Black,  Howells,  Blackmore ;  of  foreign  au 
thors,  Victor  Hugo,  Auerbach,  Rufl^i,  and 
Ebers. 

Surely,  here  are  enough  for  the  longest 
life.  There  is  a  vast  number  of  good  nov- 
els besides  these,  —  correct  in  presentation, 
sound  in  sentiment,  instructive,  entertain- 
ing. I  do  not  say.  Don't  read  them  ;  but 
consider  the  matter  well.  I  once  asked  our 
widest  and  most  thorough  reader  of  Eng- 
lish literature  if  he  had  read  a  certain  pop- 
ular novel.  He  replied,  "  I  only  read  the 
saints."  I  wondered  why  I  had  read  it, 
when  I,  too,  might  have  read  the  saints. 

But  the  novel  is  the  holiday  of  literature  ; 
let  us  come  down  to  its  every-day  features. 
Here  the  first  question  will  be.  What  shall 
determine  my  reading  ? 

(1.)  AVliile  you  are  to  read  nothing  tbat 
does   not   interest   you,   something   besides 


170  READING. 

interest  must  decide  what  the  book  shall 
be.  If  the  interest  always  coincided  with 
what  is  best,  it  were  well  indeed  ;  but 
pleasure  rarely  coincides  wholly  with  judg- 
ment. Therefore,  I  say,  read  what  is  best 
for  you,  what  will  teach  ^o\\  something; 
read  to  know,  to  think ;  but  you  must  also 
be  interested.  It  is  not  necessary  to  de- 
scend in  the  character  of  one's  reading  to 
find  zest;  it  may  be  found  by  turning 
aside.  Descents,  everywhere  and  in  all 
things,  are  to  be  avoided.  You  may  take  no 
interest  in  Hume's  "  History  of  England  ;  " 
try  Fronde's,  or  Knight's  with  its  rich  illus- 
trations, or  Dickens's  "  Child's  History  "  — 
a  book  for  all.  Another  method  would  be  to 
read  those  novels  of  Scott  that  touch  upon 
the  various  reigns  and  the  historical  plays 
of  Shakespeare,  —  the  best  of  all  English 
histories,  truest  to  the  time  and  freest  from 
bias.  Starting  with  one  of  these,  or  "  The 
Abbot,"  or  Kingsley's  "  Hereward,"  pass  to 
the  more  accurate,  but  no  truer  form  in  the 
pages  of  Macaulay  and  Freeman  and  Greeii. 
Ancient  history  is  proverbially  dull ;  but 
we  are  now  getting  it  in  charming  and 
trustworthy  form  from  Ebers.  Still,  we 
must  not  forget  Plutarch,  —  "the  prattler 


READING.  171 

in  history,"  Emerson  calls  him,  —  the  seren- 
est  and  most  stable  figure  in  the  whole 
world  of  books. 

So  of  biography.  The  Lives  of  Dr.  Ar- 
nold and  Sir  Fowell  Buxton  may  be  dull 
to  you,  but  Smiles's  "  Life  of  Stephenson," 
or  Hughes's  "  Alfred  the  Great,"  or  Irving's 
"  Columbus,"  cannot  fail  to  stir  your  inter- 
est. 

Your  religious  friend  puts  into  your  hand 
a  volume  of  sermons,  —  very  good,  doubtless, 
but  to  you  "dry  as  summer  dust."  Ask 
him  for  those  of  Philips  Brooks  or  Rob- 
ertson, and  in  time  you  may  come  to 
like  those  of  Bushnell  and  Liddon,  and 
even  Mozley.  Perhaps  you  are  skeptical, 
and  he  gives  you  a  volume  of  Evidences 
—  Paley  or  McCosh ;  but  it  is  too  exact- 
ing in  its  thought,  and  fails  to  hit  your 
mood  or  temper  of  mind.  Try,  instead, 
'•  Ecce  Homo,"  or  Brooks's  "  Influence  of 
Jesus,"  or  the  "  Life  of  Robertson,"  or 
Hughes's  "Manliness  of  Christ,"  —  books 
instinct  with  fresh  and  noble  feeling. 

Still,  an  earnest  reader  must  have  a 
deeper  motive  than  interest.  One  must 
not  pet  one's  self  in  this  matter.  It  is  a 
serious   part  of  life's   business,   and  must 


172  READING. 

be   conducted   upon   sound   principles   and 
with  resolute  firmness. 

(2.)  Read  for  general  culture.  As  one 
Btudies  grammar  for  correct  speech,  or  trav- 
els to  learn  the  ways  of  the  world,  or  min- 
gles in  society  for  polish,  so  one  ought  to 
read  for  a  certain  dress  and  decoration  of 
the  mind.  It  is  not  creditable  —  it  is  like 
excessive  rusticity  in  manners  and  attire  — 
to  lack  a  certain  knowledge  of  English  liter- 
ature. It  is  unkhid  and  embarrassing  to 
others  not  to  be  able  to  respond,  with  some 
degree  of  intelligence,  to  what  they  assume 
to  be  well  known  by  all.  I  hardly  know 
how  you  manage  it  when  the  young  lady 
fresh  from  Vassar  or  Wellesley  asks  you 
which  of  Shakespeare's  plays  you  most  ad- 
mire. I  can  assure  you  that  no  disquisition 
upon  Buffalo  Bill  will  blind  her  to  the  fact 
that  you  are  unfamiliar  with  Hamlet.  To 
this  end  of  simple  fitness  for  society,  one 
should  read  pai-ts,  at  least,  of  certain  au- 
thors. It  will  not  be  amiss  to  indicate  the 
lowest  requirements,  especially  as  they  are 
available  by  all:  a  part  of  Shakespeare's 
plays,  — "Hamlet,"  "Macbeth,"  "The  Tem- 
pest," "  The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  and 
•'  Julius    Caesar  ;  "   Milton's   shorter  poemi 


READING.  173 

Bud  the  first  two  books  of  "  Paradise  Lost ;  " 
'Pilgrim's  Progress  ;  "  Dr.  Johnson's  " Lives 
of  the  Poets ;  "  the  poems  of  Goldsmith , 
Lamb's  essays ;  Burns  ;  Wordsworth's  bal- 
lads, sonnets,  and  "Ode  on  Immortality ;" 
parts  of  Byron's  "  Childe  Harold  ;  "  a  few 
of  the  shorter  poems  of  Coleridge,  Shelley, 
Keats,  and  Cowper ;  four  or  five  of  Scott's 
novels ;  some  of  the  essays  of  Macaulay  and 
De  Quincey ;  Tennyson,  Mrs.  Browning,  and 
Ruskin  in  part ;  some  history  of  England,  — 
Knight's  or  Green's ;  the  one  or  two  best 
works  of  the  greater  novelists ;  some  definite 
knowledge  of  our  own  authors,  —  Irving, 
Cooper,  Hawthorne,  Prescott,  Motley,  Ban- 
croft, Mrs.  Stowe,  Emerson  in  "  English 
Traits,"  and  our  five  great  poets.  So  much 
we  need  to  read  before  our  minds  are  well 
enough  attired  for  good  society  ;  otherwise 
we  must  appear  in  intellectual  corduroy  and 
cow-skin. 

(3.)  Read  somewhat  in  the  way  of  disci- 
pline. This  may  take  you  in  a  direction 
contrary  to  your  tastes.  You  are  doubtless 
fond  of  the  novel,  but  it  is  not  enough  to 
eay,  I  will  read  only  such  as  are  good.  You 
require  another  kind  of  book,  —  an  essay,  a 
treatise,  a  review  article,  a  history  or  biog- 


174  READING. 

raphy,  —  something  that  may  not  win  at- 
tention, which,  therefore,  you  must  give. 
The  chief,  if  not  only  value,  of  mathemat- 
ics as  a  discipline  lies  in  its  cultivation  of 
the  habit  of  attention ;  close  consecutivo 
thought  held  to  its  work  by  the  will.  I  do 
not  see  why  the  same  end  may  not  be 
reached  by  reading,  if  it  is  done  in  this  way 
of  attending,  —  stretching  the  mind  over  the 
subject  so  as  wholly  to  cover  and  embrace 
it.  When  one  reads  out  of  mere  interest, 
and  without  exercise  of  the  will,  the  mind 
gets  flabby.  There  can  be  no  strength  where 
there  is  no  will.  The  omnivorous  reader  is 
often  weak  and  essentially  ignorant.  There 
is  such  a  thing  as  being  the  slave  of  books ; 
true  reading  implies  mastery. 

(4.)  Read  variously.  The  secret  of  true 
living  is  to  have  many  interests.  Think 
with  the  astronomer  and  with  him  whose 
talk  is  of  manures  and  soils  ;  with  your 
neighbor  and  with  him  at  the  antipodes;  with 
lawyer  and  doctor  and  minister ;  with  mer- 
chant and  manufacturer ;  with  hifrh  and  low. 
It  is  a  rich  and  various  world  we  are  in  ;  we 
should  touch  it  at  as  many  points  as  possi- 
ble. The  literature  tliat  mirrors  it  is  also 
rich  and  various  j  wider  even  than  the  world, 


READING.  175 

Bince  it  contains  the  past,  and  also  the  pos- 
sible. Man  is  coordinated  to  this  richness 
and  variety ;  so  far  as  may  be,  he  should  draw 
upon  the  whole  of  it,  for  he  needs  it  all  to 
fill  his  own  mould.  I  distrust  the  man  of 
one  book,  even  if  it  is  the  best  of  books,  or 
of  one  class  of  books.  A  lawyer  may  get  no 
direct  aid  from  Tennyson  in  pleading  cases 
but  you  may  more  safely  trust  your  case 
with  him  —  if  it  be  a  large  one  —  because 
the  fact  of  reading  such  an  author  indicates 
that  he  covers  more  space  in  the  world  of 
thought.  A  physician  cannot  study  human 
nature  in  Shakespeare  without  getting  a 
conception  of  man  helpful  in  his  practice. 
He  fails  oftenest  in  an  imaginative  grasp  of 
his  business ;  Shakespeare  is  the  best  teacher 
of  breadth.  All  other  things  being  equal, 
trust  the  lawyer  who  reads  books  of  imagi- 
nation, the  physician  who  studies  books  un- 
folding human  nature,  and  the  preacher  who 
does  not  confine  himself  to  theology. 

In  the  recent  works  of  English  scholars, 
whether  on  natural  science,  medicine,  his- 
tory, poKtical  economy,  biography,  or  theol- 
ogy, you  will  observe  that  without  excep- 
tion they  are  wide  readers  outside  of  their 
departments.     It  not  only  imparts  a  charm 


176  READING. 

and  richness  to  their  style,  but  makes  their 
books  more  trustworthy,  since  it  shows  that 
they  think  in  various  directions,  and  there- 
fore are  better  entitled  to  their  opinions. 

There  is  special  need  of  wide  reading  at 
present,  because  of  a  certain  antagonism  be- 
tween the   great  departments  of   thought. 
Physics  and   ethics,  science  and  theology, 
stand    opposed.     But    the    reader,    whose 
business   it   is   to  "circumnavigate  human 
nature,"  cannot  recognize  such  antagonism ; 
Trojan  and  Tyrian  must  be  regarded  alike. 
It  is  not  scholarly  to  read  science,  and  not 
morals:   Tyndall,   and   not   Dr.    Hopkins; 
Spencer,  and  not  President  Porter  ;   Dar- 
win, and  not  Martineau. 

You  will  find,  after  a  time,  that  one  of 
the  chief   delights   in   reading   consists  in 
substantiating  what  you  find  in  one  depart- 
ment by  what  you  find  in  another.     The 
secret  of  the  charm  lies  in  the  fact  that  one 
is  following  the  hidden  threads  that  bind  the 
creation  into  unity.     Material   things   are 
the  shadows  of  spiritual  things ;  the  law  of 
the  planet  is  in  the  flower  and  in  man.    The 
intelligent  reader  has  no  keener  enjoyment 
than  in  the  surprise  felt  as  he  comes  on  these 
wialogies.     As  an  illustration,  —  in  our  last 


READING.  177 

chapter,  the  passion  of  anger  was  spoken  of 
as  hostile  to  physical  vitality.  We  learned 
that  these  wires  that  we  call  nerves  are 
never  so  strong  after  they  have  once  trem- 
bled with  rage,  —  a  fact  taught  by  physiol- 
ogy. But  in  the  Book  of  morals  we  are  for- 
bidden to  hate,  and  anger  is  declared  to  be 
folly.  As  we  come  across  it  in  physics,  we 
say.  How  wise !  When  we  find  it  in  ethics, 
we  say,  How  gracious !  It  is  a  law  that 
allies  itself  throughout  each  sphere  with 
highest  good.  But  what  shall  we  say  when 
we  place  the  two  revelations  side  by  side,  — 
the  body  uttering  its  physical  law  and  the 
spirit  its  moral  law  in  utter  accord,  —  heaven 
and  earth  agreeing  to  one  issue !  The 
charm  of  such  interwoven  truth  is  the  re- 
ward of  the  wide  and  impartial  reader. 
But  if  you  have  a  fancy  or  partiality,  you 
may  best  feed  it  not  by  direct,  but  by  gen- 
eral reading,  for  you  will  find  it  running  as 
a  thread  through  all  literature. 

(5.)  Never  read  below  your  tastes.  If 
a  book  seems  to  you  in  any  way  poor, 
coarse,  low,  or  untrue,  it  may  be  passed  by. 
There  may  be  reasons  why  we  should  as- 
Bociate  with  low  persons ;  we  may  influence 
them,  but  we   cannot  alter   a  book.     The 

12 


1^78  READING. 

first  quality  to  be  demaiided  of  a  book  is 
that  it  shall  be  true ;  the  second  is  that  it 
shall  be  nolle.     If  there  is  laughter  in  it, 
it  must  be  the  laughter  of  the  gods.     Books 
of    humor,    especially   those   of    American 
origin,  are  to  be  carefully  scrutinized,  and 
at ''most  but  "  tasted."     Those   of    Lowell 
and  Holmes  are  almost  the  only  exceptions. 
(C.)  Read  on  a  level  with  your  author, 
with  no  subservience,  in  a  kindly  critical 
mood,— the  author  a  person,  yourself  also 
consciously  a  person. 

I  occasionally  turn  over  the  leaves  of  a 
copy  of    "  Tucker's  Light  of  Nature,"  — as 
solid  and  abstruse  a  book  as  one  often  en- 
counters, —  that  was  owned  and  annotated 
on  its  broad  margins  by  Leigh  Hunt.     It 
is  admirable  to  see  how  the  airy  poet  kept 
abreast   of   his  robust   author,  challengnig 
his   thought,    denying   here   and    agreeing 
there.     I  have  by  me  a  copy  of  the  "  Life 
and  Letters  of  Henry  More  "  annotated  by 
President  Stiles;  but  the  old  New  England 
divine  does  not  seem  to  have  been  abashed 
before  the  great  Tlatonist.     Do  not  sit  at 
the  feet  of  your  author,  but  by  his  side; 
trust   him,   but   watch   him.     He   has   hia 
limitations  and  prejudices,  and  at  some  point 


READING.  179 

they  may  be  narrower  than  your  own.  This 
is  eminently  necessary  in  reading  such  au- 
thors as  "  George  EHot,"  Emerson,  Carlyle, 
and  Matthew  Arnold.  The  critical  faculty 
is  assisted  by  wide  reading.  We  not  only 
use  our  own  judgment,  but  we  learn  to  pit 
authors  against  each  other:  Emerson  the 
transcendentalist  against  "  George  Eliot " 
the  positivist;  the  spiritual  Pascal  against 
the  materalistic  Spencer.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary to  agree  wholly  with  any  author; 
there  is  in  each  a  limitation,  a  weakness, 
which  is  to  be  taken  for  granted.  It  is 
Shakespeare  only  who  seems  never  to  falter, 
never  to  go  beyond  or  fall  short. 

(7.)  Read  in  the  line  of  your  pursuit. 
If  you  build  sewers  or  bridges,  study  up  the 
Roman  aqueducts.  If  you  handle  dyes,  do 
not  be  ignorant  of  the  Tyrian  purple.  The 
obvious  effect  of  reading  upon  one's  pursuit 
is  that  one  can  follow  it  more  intelligently, 
but  it  has  a  finer  value  ;  "when  we  take  our 
labor  into  literature,  it  is  ennobled.  Farm- 
ing has  grown  steadily  in  dignity  as  it  has 
been  studied  and  followed  in  the  light  of 
books.  When  we  read  of  our  pursuits,  we 
think  of  them  more  calmly,  more  profoundly 
and  objectively.    Our  vocation  is  so  near  us 


180  READING. 

that  we  do  not  see  it,  but  the  book  sepa- 
rates us  from  it,  so  that  we  look  on  all  sides. 
And  if  by  chance  it  throws  about  it  some 
ray  of  genius,  —  puts  it  into  the  setting  of 
a  poem  or  romance,  —  we  go  to  its  tasks 
with  lighter  hearts. 

(8.)  I  have  no  need  to  suggest  that  one 
Bhould  read  in  view  of  one's  deficiencies. 

(9.)  Read  thoroughly.  The  triteness  of 
the  words  measures  their  importance.  You 
may  glide  over  the  newspaper  and  rush 
through  the  novel,  but  have  constantly  at 
hand  something  of  a  substantial  character, 
and  fit  to  be  classed  as  literature,  —  a  his- 
tory, a  biography,  a  volume  of  travels  or 
essays  or  science,  that  you  are  reading  for 
the  definite  purpose  of  transferring  its  con- 
tents into  your  mind,  with  a  view  to  keep- 
ing them  there. 

Webster  said,  "  Many  other  students  read 
more  than  I  did,  and  knew  more  than  I  did, 
but  so  much  as  I  read  I  made  my  own." 
Burke  read  a  book  as  if  ho  were  never  to 
see  it  a  second  time. 

(10.)  Read  from  a  centre.  I  mean,  take 
your  stand  upon  an  epoch,  or  character,  or 
question,  and  read  out  from  it.  Suppose  it 
be  Iceland  :  first  know  the  country  by  books 


READING.  181 

of  travel,  then  study  its  history  through  ita 
milleniura  back  to  Denmark,  then  its  liter- 
ature as  it  runs  into  Scandinavian  romance 
and  mythology,  then  trace  its  explorations 
upon  this  continent.  Suppose  it  to  be  Mil- 
ton :  hunt  him  up  and  down  in  the  encyclo- 
paedias, and  wherever  else  he  may  be  found, 
from  Dr.  Johnson's  Life,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago,  to  Pattison's  Life,  of  yes- 
terday. You  thus  come  into  a  sort  of  inti- 
macy with  your  character  that  is  almost 
personal,  and  even  friendly,  if  you  care  so 
to  have  it.  Or  suppose  it  to  be  a  history : 
when  you  come  to  such  a  character  as  Crom- 
well or  Mary  Stuart,  find  out  what  the  va- 
rious authors  say,  from  the  Tory  Hume  to 
the  radical  Froude  and  the  dissenting  Gei- 
kie.  One  age,  one  country,  one  character, 
thoroughly  mastered  —  this  is  reading. 

If  this  seems  like  making  a  toil  of  what 
should  always  be  a  pleasure,  let  me  say  that 
after  a  time  this  habit  of  thoroughness  gets 
to  be  the  source  of  its  keenest  enjoyment. 
We  speak  of  the  pleasures  of  knowledge, 
but  may  not  have  discovered  that  only  exact 
fcnowledge  can  yield  pleasure.  The  prin- 
ciple goes  very  deep.  A  desultory,  careless 
reader  may  draw  a  certain  excitement  from 
Dooks,  but  no  peace  or  satisfaction. 


182  READING. 

(11.)  Having  made,  by  chance,  a  deca- 
logue of  rules,  among  which  I  trust  there  is 
no  useless  one,  I  close  with  an  eleventh 
commandment,  greater  than  all :  Cultivate 
a  friendly  feeling  towards  books. 

A  greaj  author,  Maurice,  wrote  a  volume 
named  "  The  Friendship  of  Books."  It  in- 
dicates a  very  real  thing.  Milton  went  so 
far  in  giving  personality  to  a  book  that  he 
said,  "  Almost  as  well  kill  a  man  as  a  book." 
Books  are  our  most  steadfast  friends  ;  they 
are  our  resource  in  loneliness  ;  they  go  with 
us  on  our  journeys  ;  they  await  our  return ; 
they  are  our  best  company  ;  they  are  a  ref- 
uge in  pain  ;  they  breathe  peace  upon  our 
troubles ;  they  await  age  as  ministers  of 
youth  and  cheer  ;  they  bring  the  whole 
world  of  men  and  things  to  our  feet ;  they 
put  us  in  the  centre  of  the  world  ;  they  sum- 
mon us  away  from  our  narrow  life  to  their 
greatness,  from  our  ignorance  to  their  wis- 
dom, from  our  partial  or  distempered  vision 
to  their  calm  and  universal  verdicts.  There 
may  be  something  of  discord  in  their  min- 
gled voices,  but  the  undertone  speaks  for 
truth  and  virtue  and  faith. 


VIII. 

AMUSEMENTS. 


Let  him  not  attempt  to  regulate  other  people's  pleasures 
hf  his  own  tastes."  —  Helps. 

"  And  the  streets  of  the  city  shall  be  full  of  boys  and  girls 
playing  in  the  streets  thereof."  —  Zechariah. 

"I  can  easily  persuade  myself,  that,  if  the  world  were 
free,  —  free,  I  mean,  of  themselves,  —  brought  up,  all,  out 
of  work  into  the  pure  inspiration  of  truth  and  charity,  new 
forms  of  personal  and  intellectual  beauty  would  appear,  and 
Bvciety  itself  reveal  the  Orphic  movement."  —  Busiinkll. 

"The  only  happiness  a  brave  man  ever  troubled  himself 
with  asking  much  about  was,  happiness  enough  to  get  hia 
»  rk  done." — Caklyla. 


VIII. 

AMUSEMENTS. 

I  WOULD  prefer,  if  it  were  possible,  to 
avoid  entering  on  the  question  as  to  the 
right  or  wrong  of  certain  amusements,  be- 
cause I  think  it  a  very  poor  and  profitless 
discussion.  It  were  better  to  take  the  sub- 
ject out  of  the  plane  of  scruple  and  allow- 
ance, —  so  far  and  no  farther,  this  much 
and  no  more,  —  and  lift  it  up  into  a  nobler 
atmosphere.  Instead  of  haggling  over  the 
proper  allowance  or  kind  of  amusements,  I 
would  have  one  rather  indifferent  to  the 
whole  subject  —  above  it,  in  short.  If  you 
are  animated  by  right  principles,  and  have 
awakened  to  the  dignity  of  life,  the  sub- 
ject of  amusements  may  be  left  to  settle  it- 
self. It  is  not  a  difficult,  unless  it  is  made 
a  primary,  question.  When,  however, 
amusements  dominate  the  life ;  when  they 
consume  any  considerable  fraction  of  one's 
time  or  income ;  when  they  are   found  to 


186  AMUSEMENTS. 

be  giving  a  tone  to  the  thoughts ;  when 
they  pass  the  line  of  moderation,  and  ran 
into  excess ;  when  they  begin  to  be  in  any 
degree  a  necessity,  having  shaped  the  mind 
to  their  form,  they  grow  vexatious,  and  be- 
come a  difficult  factor  in  the  adjustment 
of  conduct. 

There  is  a  famous  saying  of  St.  Augus. 
tine,  "  Love  and  do  all  things,"  that  covers 
the  subject,  though  its  generalization  may 
be  too  broad  for  common  use.  Still,  I  hate 
to  descend  from  the  lofty  principle  that 
fihould  guide  us  in  the  matter  to  its  details. 
I  wish  young  men  were  so  devoted  to  their 
callings  that  they  would  feel  but  slight  in- 
terest in  the  technical  amusements  of  the 
day.  I  wish  they  had  such  a  sense  of  the 
value  of  time,  when  devoted  to  books,  that 
they  would  not  waste  their  evenings  before 
minstrel  troupes,  or  in  games  of  any  sort. 
I  wish  you  were  so  sensitive  to  place  and 
company  that  you  would  avoid  billiard  sa- 
loons. I  wish  you  were  so  thrifty  of  money, 
and  so  careful  of  health,  and  so  sensible  on 
•"everal  other  points,  that  the  all-night  ball 
would  be  out  of  question.  I  wish  you  liad 
BO  much  of  that  (ine  feeling  called  aristo- 
cratic that  you  would  decline  to  mingle  eo. 


AMUSEMENTS.  187 

cially  in  company  that  is  open  to  all  on  pay- 
ment of  money,  —  a  doorkeeper  and  a  ticket 
the  only  introduction  and  barrier.  I  wish 
you  had  so  lofty  an  ambition,  such  a  deter- 
mination to  get  on  and  up  in  the  world,  that 
you  would  give  all  these  things  the  go-by 
for  the  most. 

But  these  wishes  are  keyed  too  high  for 
realization,  and  I  must  speak  in  another 
way,  coming  nearer  to  the  casuistry  of  the 
subject,  though  I  dislike  that  view  of  it. 
Your  demand  is  for  distinctions  and  drawn 
lines,  and  definite  rehearsal  of  the  innocent 
and  forbidden.  Well,  if  we  make  distinc- 
tions, let  us  at  least  make  true  ones. 

The  present  perplexity  largely  comes  from 
accepting,  in  a  hereditary  way,  distinctions 
that  once  may  have  been  necessary,  but  are 
so  no  longer.  The  amusements  and  vices 
of  English  society  under  the  Stuarts  were 
so  interwoven  that  it  was  easier  to  sweep 
out  the  whole  by  a  single  act  of  heroic  pro- 
test than  it  was  to  enter  upon  the  nice  work 
of  separation.  It  may  have  been  wise  social 
economy,  but  it  was  a  mistake  to  insert  this 
indiscriminate  cleansing  of  society  into  the 
fabric  of  religion.  The  attitude  of  the  Pu- 
ritan was,  —  I  will  forego  all  pleasures  till 


188  AMUSEMENTS. 

I  have  crushed  out  Cavalier  vices.  It  was 
BO  akin  to  religion  that  it  became  identified 
with  it.  Vices  and  pleasures  were  put  in 
the  same  category.  There  was  some  justi- 
fication of  Macaulay's  remark  that  the  Pu- 
ritans objected  to  bear-baiting,  not  because 
it  tormented  the  bear,  but  because  it  gave 
pleasure  to  the  spectators.  But  the  stress 
that  constrained  the  Puritan  passed  away, 
leaving  a  set  of  distinctions  as  to  amuse- 
ments, all  interwoven  with  religion,  but 
forming  no  essential  part  of  it,  and  having 
no  basis  in  clear  thought.  Hence  all  moral 
training  in  New  England  has  had  a  large 
negative  element ;  its  sign  has  been  the  not 
doing  certain  things.  Meanwhile  we  have 
been  learning  that  our  Faith,  which  ulti- 
mately regulates  such  matters,  is  not  keyed 
to  such  a  note,  but  is  a  gift,  and  a  spirit  that 
transforms  all  things.  Our  traditions  and 
our  knowledge  have  come  into  conflict.  One 
eide  says,  it  has  always  been  held  wrong  to 
do  this  and  that,  and  therefore  we  must  ab- 
stain. The  other  side  denies  the  binding 
force  of  such  logic,  and,  as  always  happens 
when  barriers  are  tlirown  down,  ruslies  into 
extremes.  On  one  side  is  bigotry,  on  the 
other  license.     Each  mistakes  —  one  in  ap- 


AMUSEMENTS.  189 

plying  the  restrictions  of  religion  to  things 
not  essentially  evil,  the  other  in  forgetting 
that  innocent  things  may  not  be  the  best, 
and  may  be  used  as  very  bad  things.  All 
the  grand  emphasis  of  religion,  however  mis- 
taken, has  been  on  one  side,  all  the  eager- 
ness of  human  nature  on  the  other  side.  It 
is  not  strange  that,  in  such  a  state  of  the 
question,  young  persons  do  about  as  they 
choose.  Truer  distinctions  will  be  made 
when  we  fully  learn  that  our  Faith  is  not  a 
system  of  restriction,  but  a  bringer-in  of 
higher  life ;  not  a  rule,  but  an  inspiration. 
When  the  order  and  habits  of  the  Faith  are 
established  the  question  of  amusements  will 
be  a  very  easy  one  to  settle  practically.  It 
tells  us  that  whatever  is  not  in  itself  evil, 
whatever  is  not  in  excess,  whatever  does  not 
naturally  minister  to  vice,  are  free.  It  does 
not,  however,  say  that  it  is  best  to  use  this 
liberty  to  the  full,  nor  that  you  are  not  to 
come  into  ways  of  thinking  that  shut  amuse- 
ments out  of  all  power  to  tempt  or  injure. 
President-elect  Garfield  is  wholly  free  to 
pull  in  a  boat-race,  but  higher  considera- 
tions may  render  it  unwise  that  he  should 
do  so;  and,  having  weightier  matters  on 
hand,  it  is  not  probable  that  his  desu'es  run 
•trongly  in  that  direction. 


190  AMUSEMENTS. 

The  debate  practically  centres  upon  danc- 
ing, cards,  and  theatre-going.  In  speaking 
of  them  we  shall  indulge  in  no  equivoca- 
tion, no  paltering  with  false  reasons,  no 
throwing  of  dust  into  the  eyes  in  older 
to  gain  time,  no  use  of  arguments  that 
break  down  when  applied,  without  essen- 
tial change,  to  other  things.  In  illustra- 
tion, —  cards  are  condemned  because  they 
are  the  tools  of  gamblers  and  lead  to 
gambling,  but  billiards,  which  are  equally 
the  tools  of  gamblers  and  are  played  even 
less  frequently  without  gambling  than  cards, 
have  no  general  and  traditional  condemna- 
tion. Such  reasoning  and  distinctions  do 
infinite  harm.  Nothing  so  tends  to  break 
down  all  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  as  basing 
conduct  on  false  reasons,  and  making  dis- 
tinctions that  are  without  reasons. 

In  these  three  things  I  think  it  wiser  to 
discriminate  than  to  reject.  I  grant  that 
they  do  not  represent  very  higli  phases  of 
conduct,  and  that  an  atmosphere  not  the 
purest  invests  them ;  still,  it  is  better  to 
draw  the  line  between  use  and  abuse  than 
to  turn  them  altogether  out  of  life.  It  may 
be  said  that  it  is  easier  and  safer  to  reject 
them,   than    to   apply    the   distinction.     It 


AMUSEMENTS.  191 

ought  not  to  be  easier  to  use  Avrong  reason 
tbau  right  reason.  All  application  of  truth 
to  society  is  a  matter  of  faith.  It  is  better 
to  trust  an  untried  truth,  than  to  work  a 
prudential  fallacy.  Besides,  practically, 
the  question  has  settled  itself  by  usage. 
Nearly  all  who  feel  inclined  to  do  so,  dance, 
and  play  with  cards,  and  go  to  the  opera 
and  theatre.  The  circles  are  very  small  in 
which  these  amusements  are  totally  inhib- 
ited ;  and,  in  these  cases,  one  is  often  forced 
to  suspect  that  the  reason  of  the  abstaining 
lies  in  their  positions  rather  than  in  their 
consciences. 

The  reason  for  this  almost  general  indul- 
gence in  these  amusements  is  that  they  are 
not  regarded  as  essentially  evil,  or  incon- 
sistent with  correct  principles.  It  is  plainly 
wiser  to  make  a  distinction  between  use  and 
abuse  than  to  hold  fast  the  door  of  prohibi- 
tion after  everybody  has  gone  through. 

What  then  of  dancing?  A  very  beau- 
tiful and  simple  amusement,  based  on  the 
mystei-ious  laws  of  rhythm, — the  body 
•esponding  with  the  grace  of  motion  to  the 
measure  of  music.  It  is  not  strange  that  it 
bas  been  used  in  religion.  So  fine  a  thing, 
grounded  in  such  sanctity  of  natural  law, 


192  AMUSEMENTS. 

Bhould  be  kept  at  the  highest  point  of 
beauty  and  purity.  Any  association  of  it 
with  what  is  vile,  or  coarse,  or  excessive,  is 
a  profanation.  It  is,  moreover,  as  a  fine 
wine  amongst  the  pleasures,  and  is  not  for 
daily  use.  Its  practice  is  an  instruction  of 
the  body,  teaching  command  of  the  per- 
son, and  grace  and  dignity  of  bearing.  Ita 
period  is  in  youth,  while  rhythm  has  ita 
seat  in  the  blood,  and  not  after  it  has  passed 
into  the  thought.  Its  place  is  the  home, 
where  parents  greet  only  guests.  So  fine  a 
thing  requires  the  most  delicate  and  gra- 
cious ordering.  The  hall  at  which  a  door- 
keeper takes  tickets  bought  in  the  market, 
is  plainly  not  a  fit  place  for  a  pleasure  so 
pure  and  natural,  and,  because  natural,  liable 
to  abuse.  Of  all  things  dancing  should  not 
be  miscellaneous.  There  can  be  no  objec- 
tion to  visiting  a  well-conducted  circus,  but 
one  should  hesitate  if  it  exposed  one  to  an 
introduction  to  the  clowns  and  equestri- 
nines. 

There  are  objections  of  utmost  weight  to 
be  urged  against  the  all-night  ball.  The 
general  and  unanswerable  criticism  to  bu 
made  upon  it  is  that  of  excess.  The  phy- 
•ician,  the  teacher,  the  employer,  the  parent, 


AMUSEMENTS.  193 

che  unprejudiced  looker-on,  each  brings  in 
his  specific  protest.  It  can  be  tolerated 
only  as  you  tolerate  a  wholesale  violation  of 
physical  and  social  laws. 

What  of  card-playing  ?  I  suppose  if  any- 
thing could  be  annihilated  without  sensible 
loss  to  human  welfare  it  would  be  that 
small  package  of  paste-board  known  aa 
cards  ;  but  we  had  best  not  pray  for  it  lest 
some  worse  thing  take  its  place.  Their 
abuse  is  immense,  but  they  have  a  use 
that  is  at  least  allowable.  An  abuse  ought 
not  to  be  suffered  to  destroy  a  use,  except 
in  rarest  cases ;  it  is  not  the  way  to  prevent 
evil.  The  use  will  constantly  be  clamoring 
for  return,  bringing  back  also  the  abuse. 
The  wiser  way  is  to  separate  them  by  some 
principles  of  common  sense.  In  this  matter 
the  distinction  is  easily  made.  As  a  house- 
hold amusement,  what  can  be  more  inno- 
cent ?  In  point  of  fact,  boys,  who  from  the 
first  are  accustomed  to  cards,  commonly  out- 
grow them,  or  hold  them  as  of  slightest 
moment.  But  stolen  bread  is  sweet,  and 
many  a  boy  has  been  morally  broken  down 
^.hrough  yielding  to  well-nigh  irresistible 
temptation  to  play  an  innocent  game  that 
was  prohibited  as  sinful  in  his  home.   There 

13 


194  AMUSEMENTS. 

is  an  amazing  lack  of  practical  wisdom  in 
this  matter.  "I  cannot  persuade  my  boya 
to  join  me  in  a  game  of  wliist,"  said  a 
respectable  gentleman  of  his  grown-up  sons 
His  neighbor  forbade  cards  (I  take  this 
twofold  note  from  life)  and  his  four  sons 
grew  into  gamblers.  Gamesters  do  not 
come  from  households  in  which  games  are 
the  trivial  sports  of  childhood.  Their  fasci- 
nation evaporates  with  the  dew  of  youth. 
An  amusement  in  early  life,  a  recreation  in 
age,  a  thing  of  indifference  in  the  working 
period  of  life,  such  is  the  place  of  cards. 
Their  abuse  is  very  great.  As  a  means  of 
gambling,  as  a  waster  of  time,  as  taking  the 
place  of  rational  soci(;ty,  —  for  a  whist-party 
is  an  organization  of  inanity,  —  they  cannot 
be  too  sharply  condemned. 

Young  men  should  govern  themselves 
very  strictly  in  this  thing.  Don't  play  in 
the  cars ;  gamblers  do,  gentlemen  do  not, 
as  a  rule.  Never  play  in  public  places,  it  is 
the  just  mark  of  a  loafer.  Refuse  to  devote 
wliole  evenings  to  whist,  life  is  too  short 
and  books  are  too  near.  Rate  the  wliole 
matter  but  lowly,  and  have  such  uses  foi 
your  time  and  faculties  that  you  can  say  to 
others,  and  to  yourself,  I  have  other  con 
cerns  to  attend  to. 


AMUSEMENTS.  195 

As  to  billiards,  it  is  commonly  understood 
tbat  gentlemen  sensitive  to  their  surround- 
ings feel  obliged  to  discard  tbem  for  the 
most  part.  In  itself  a  beautiful  game,  it 
has  been  almost  impossible  to  keep  it  clean 
and  wholesome.  Private  tables  are  little 
used ;  public  saloons  are  the  haunts  of  well- 
dressed  loafers,  and  the  atmosphere  is  dis- 
tinctly charged  with  small  gambling.  I  have 
always  suspected  the  title  of  an  eminent 
physician  to  his  reputation,  since  I  compared 
the  elegance  of  his  billiard-room  with  the 
meagreness  of  his  libri^ry. 

But  the  war  of  opinions  is  waged  chiefly 
over  the  opera  and  theatre.  If  the  question 
were  to  take  the  form  of  indiscrimate  and 
habitual  attendance  upon  them,  it  would 
admit  of  quick  answer.  There  is  an  old 
criticism  of  the  stage  that  is  not  easily  an- 
swered. It  is  twofold  ;  the  appeal  to  the 
sensibilities  is  excessive ;  the  scenic  cannot 
be  made  a  vehicle  of  moral  teaching,  because 
the  medium  is  one  of  unreality,  —  in -fine, 
because  it  is  acting.  If  one  were  to  choose 
the  surest  and  speediest  method  of  reducing 
himself  to  a  mush  of  sensibility  let  him 
Bteadily  frequent  the  opera  and  theatre. 
Whac   emotion   do   they  not  stir?     What 


196  AMUSEMENTS. 

good  purpose  do  they  confirm  ?  Hell  opens 
on  the  stage  and  swallows  up  Don  Gio- 
vanni, but  what  roue  leaves  the  house  with 
altered  purpose  ?  The  play  may  contain  a 
moral  lesson,  but  in  conveying  truth  every- 
thing depends  upon  the  medium ;  the  worst 
possible  medium  is  one  that  is  false.  On 
the  stage  nothing  is  real ;  everything  from 
painted  scene  to  costumed  actor  is  ficti- 
tious, except  the  bare  sentiment  of  the 
play,  which  shares  the  fate  of  its  medium, 
and  is  lost  with  it  behind  the  last  fall  of 
the  curtain. 

The  claim  of  the  theatre  as  a  school  of 
morals  is  false;  not  because  it  is  immoral, 
but  because  it  cannot,  from  its  own  nature, 
be  a  teacher  of  morals.  It  may  have  just 
claims,  but  they  are  not  of  this  sort. 

The  opera  gives  us  music  in  nearly  the 
highest  degree  of  the  art.  Human  society 
will  never  shut  itself  off  from  the  realization 
of  any  true  art,  nor  ought  it  to  do  so.  Its 
instinctive  course  is  to  insist  on  the  art,  and 
trust  to  time  and  change  to  rid  it  of  evil  as- 
sociation. A  like  claim  may  be  made  for 
the  theatre ;  it  is  a  field  for  the  expression 
of  the  highest  literature  through  a  genuine 
art.     Here  is  a  solid  fact  that  will  never  be 


AM  USEMENTS.  197 

wiped  out.  The  stage  has  stood  for  threo 
thousand  years  because  it  has  a  basis  in 
human  nature.  It  represents  an  art,  and 
society  never  drops  an  art. 

The  abuses  that  have  clustered  about  "t 
are  enormous.  In  evil  days  it  sinks  to  the 
bottom  of  the  scale  of  decency,  and  in  best 
days  it  hardly  rises  to  the  average.  Still, 
it  reflects  society,  and  with  the  growing 
habit  of  attendance  it  has  steadily  gained 
in  respectability.  A  long  journey,  however, 
is  before  it  in  this  direction.  "  Oh,  reform 
it  altogether,"  prays  Hamlet.  But  the  drift 
is  plain,  and  the  final  solution  is  apparent. 
Society  will  not  drop  the  stage,  but  will  de- 
mand that  it  shall  rise  to  its  own  standards, 
and  be  as  pure  as  itself  ;  decent  people  will 
have  a  decent  stage. 

I  have  written  frankly,  because  I  think  it 
better  to  give  young  men  the  true  view  of 
the  subject,  than  to  shut  them  up  in  pru- 
dential inclosures  that  are  full  of  logical 
gaps. 

It  does  not  by  any  means  follow  that  it 
IS  wise  or  right  for  a  young  man  to  give 
himself  up  to  the  habit  of  indiscriminate 
theatre-going.  Aside  from  moral  contami- 
Dation  iiicident  to  the  average  theatre,  the 


198  AMUSEMENTS. 

influence  intellectually  is  degrading.  Its 
lessons  are  morbid,  distorted,  and  superficial, 
they  do  not  mirror  life.  "  Seems,  madam," 
says  Hamlet,  "  I  know  not  seems."  Neither 
do  any  of  us  recognize  the  seeming  with  any 
power. 

But  the  crucial  question  comes  at  last : 
Shall  we  never  yisit  the  theatre  ?  When 
the  place  is  decent  in  its  associations,  when 
the  play  is  pure  and  has  some  true  worth, 
when  the  actmg  has  the  merit  of  art,  I 
know  of  no  principle  that  forbids  it.  But 
if,  under  these  conditions,  you  see  fit  to  at- 
tend, let  it  be  no  reason  for  visiting  the 
average  theatre,  nor  let  it  represent  a  habit. 
The  technical  amusements  should  not  be 
made  habits  ;  it  is  recreation  —  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing —  that  is  to  be  made  habitual. 

Our  answer  provokes  the  straight  ques- 
tion :  Would  it  not  be  better  to  make  it  a 
matter  of  rule  and  principle,  and  abstain 
altogether  ?  We  can  make  rules,  but  not 
orinciples ;  they  are  made  for  us.  The  prin- 
ciple here  consists  in  distinguishing  between 
use  and  abuse,  between  the  bad  and  the 
innocent,  and  not  in  a  blind  rejection  of 
the  whole  matter.  As  to  the  rule,  it  is  a 
nobler  and  wiser  way  of  treating  young  men 


AMUSEMENTS.  199 

to  ask  them  to  observe  rational  distinctions, 
than  to  shut  them  up  to  rules  they  have  no 
mind  to  observe. 

I  have   said   so    much   on   amusements, 

chiefly  in  order  to  get  thera  into  a  region  of 

clear  thought ;  but  I  have  another  and  more 

difficult  end  in  view,  namely,  to  take  you 

altogether  away  from  them,  or  to  lead  you 

to  regard  them  as  but  trivial  and  secondary 

matters.     They  are  not  of  the  substance  of 

life,  they  do  not  face  the  heights  of  our 

nature,  but  are  turned  toward  the  child-side 

of  it.     The  dance,  the  game,  the  play,  all 

quite  innocent  in  themselves  and  involving 

something  of  art,  are  not  the  stuff  out  of 

which  manhood  is  built,  nor  must  they  enter 

largely  into  it.    We  naturally  connect  them 

with  early  years,  and  expect  them  to  drop 

their  claims  when  life  fully  asserts  itself. 

It  seems  not  quite  in  the  true  order  when 

they  largely  engage  the  interest  of  men  and 

women  who  are  in  the  midst  of  their  years. 

Still  this  is  a  matter  of  individual  taste  and 

judgment.     Dr.  Dale  of  Birmingham  tells 

us  of  an  English  fox-hunter  who  declared 

that  "  the  keeping  of  dogs  was  the  noblest 

of  Aall  Aoccupations." 

I  wage  no  crusade  against  these  amuse- 


200  AMUSEMENTS. 

ments ;  I  am  only  solicitous  lest  you  rate 
them  too  highly,  and  weigh  them  too  care- 
lessly. It  is  painful  to  see  a  young  man  of 
sound  conscience  in  a  flutter  of  question 
if  he  may  engage  in  this  or  that  amuse- 
ment. Diogenes  does  not  long  pause  over 
him.  Two  young  men  go  to  their  teacher, 
or  some  wise  friend,  for  advice;  one  ask8 
if  it  is  wrong  to  dance,  or  play  with  cards, 
or  go  to  the  theatre.  His  friend  tells  him 
that  it  is  not  necessarily  wrong  to  do  these 
things,  and,  with  a  word  of  caution,  some- 
what sadly  sends  him  away.  The  other 
young  man  asks  him  if  he  can  put  him  in 
the  way  of  getting  a  list  of  the  Roman  em- 
perors, or  a  fair  estimate  of  Dean  Swift, 
or  the  various  theories  of  the  Great  Pyra- 
mid, or  the  "  Life  of  Stephenson,"  as  he  has 
some  thought  of  becoming  a  railroad  man. 
It  needs  no  prophet  to  foretell  which  will 
be  brakeman,  and  which  president  of  the 
road. 

You  have  already  detected  my  purpose. 
It  is  not  to  mete  the  bounds  in  amusements, 
but  to  turn  you  away  from  any  deep  interest 
in  them.  They  are  free  to  you  in  a  wise 
way,  but  you  have  other  business  in  hand. 

It  is  not  without  reason  that  I  call  you  to 


AMUSEMENTS.  201 

the  severer  estimate  of  the  subject.  As  mat- 
ters are  going,  societj^  seems  to  be  shaping  it- 
self into  an  organization  for  generatincr  the 
greatest  possible  amount  of  pleasure.  The 
commonest  figure  to-day  —  I  fear  he  is  al» 
most  typical — is  the  young  man  demanding, 
as  first  of  all  considerations,  that  he  shall  bo 
amused ;  amused  he  must  be  at  whatever 
cost,  and  if  society  and  education  and  church 
are  not  shaped  to  that  end  he  will  have 
nought  to  do  with  them.  Meanwhile  church 
and  college  and  social  life  hasten  to  com- 
ply, suggesting  that  the  main  business  of 
each  is  to  keep  up  a  "  show."  One  wishes 
with  Douglas  Jerrold  "  that  the  world  would 
get  tired  of  this  eternal  guffaw."  Let  me 
say  to  the  young  men  who  read  these  pages, 
that  while  the  many  are  amusing  them- 
selves, a  few  earnest  ones  turn  aside  and 
seize  the  prizes  of  life.  I  would  have  you 
of  this  number.  I  would  persuade  j'ou  to  ex- 
tricate yourselves  from  the  giggling  crowd, 
and  hold  that  life  may  be  worth  living  even 
if  it  does  not  provide  you  with  a  stunning 
H,musement  every  twenty-four  hours.  I 
would  have  you  strong  and  clear-headed 
enough  to  enter  the  protest  of  your  example 
Against  the  insidious,  emasculating  idea  so 


292  AMUSEMENTS. 

prevalent,  that  the  main  object  in  life  is  "  to 
have  a  good  time."  I  would  have  you  real- 
ize that-  "  a  soul  sodden  with  pleasure  "  is 
the  most  utterly  lost  and  degraded  soul  that 
can  be.  When  pleasure  rules  the  life,  mind, 
sensibility,  health  shrivel  and  waste,  till  at 
last,  and  not  tardily,  no  joy  in  earth  or 
heaven  can  move  the  worn-out  heart  to  re- 
sponse. 

But  shall  a  young  man  have  no  amuse- 
ments ?  He  is  not  shut  off  from  any  that 
sound  sense  and  a  high  ambition  admit  of; 
but  if  these  governing  principles  are  not 
kept  at  the  fore-front  of  life,  nothing  is  ad- 
missible. Just  now  amusement  seems  to 
be  primary,  while,  in  truth,  it  is  the  last 
thine:  about  which  we  need  to  concern  our- 
selves.  What  does  a  bird,  or  an  angel, 
think  of  it  ?  Each  wings  his  way,  and  his 
flight  is  his  joy. 

Mr.  Raskin  touches  our  theme  most  aptly: 
"  All  real  and  wholesome  enjoyments  possi- 
ble to  man  have  been  just  as  possible  to 
him  since  first  he  was  made  of  the  earth 
as  they  are  now.  To  watch  the  corn  grow 
and  the  blossoms  set,  to  draw  hard  breath 
over  plowshare  and  spade,  to  read,  to  think, 
to  love,  to  hope,  to  pray ;   these  are  the 


AMUSEMENTS.  203 

things  that  make  men  happy."  Mr.  Ruskin 
is  too  lofty,  too  severe,  you  say  ;  he  is  play- 
ing his  rdle  of  grand  grumbler.  We  find 
ourselves  after  this  long  discussion  simply 
exhorted  to  noble  feelings  and  ambitions, 
and  left  befogged  in  clouds  of  high  senti- 
ment ;  life  after  all  is  made  up  of  real  acts  ; 
we  want  to  know  exactly  with  what  form 
of  pleasure  we  may  offset  our  hard  toil  of 
brain  or  hands,  —  how  we  shall  let  off  this 
exuberance  of  vitality  that  bubbles  within, 

—  how  we  may  gratify  this  instinct  of  play 

—  natural  as  laughter  itself.  I  will  make 
what  answer  I  can. 

The  technical  amusements  that  have  been 
spoken  of, —  the  stage,  the  dance,  the  games, 
and  things  of  like  nature,  —  are  not  to  be 
regarded  as  true  recreation  or  play.  They 
do  not  rest  one,  they  consume  vitality 
rather  than  furnish  a  channel  for  it,  and 
they  cannot,  from  their  nature,  be  closely 
enough  ingrafted  with  daily  life.  They 
may  serve  as  an  occasional  pleasure,  but 
they  cannot  afford  constant  recreation, 
which  every  one  must  have,  and  can  hardly 
have  in  excess.  I  would  make  the  broad- 
est and  most  emphatic  distinction  between 
pleasure   derived   from   these    amusements 


204  AMUSEMENTS. 

and  enjoyment  drawn  from  other  sources. 
I  mean,  by  the  distinction,  getting  our  own 
natures  at  work  in  simple  and  pleasurable 
ways  instead  of  looking  for  external  excite- 
ment. 

I  may  seem  to  have  reached  a  very  prosjp 
conclusion,  but  I  claim  that  motion  in  the 
open  air,  under  clear  skies,  and  in  close  con- 
tact with  nature,  is  the  finest  and  keenest 
recreation  possible  to  a  healthy-minded,  full- 
blooded  man.     When  it  is  not  so  regarded 
it  is  because  neither  mind  nor  body  are  in 
normal  condition.    The  distinguishing  mark 
of  those  who  are  devoted  to  the  amusements, 
as   contrasted    with   those  who   delight  in 
open-air  recreation,  is  UstlessnesSj  —  a  very 
common   thing   as    we   note   the  gait,  air, 
and  voice  of  many  young  men.     The  grand- 
est figure  of  a  man  seen  in  Great  Britain 
for  a  huudred  years  was  Christopher  North. 
In  the  chapter  on  Health  we  described  him 
as    running    amongst    the    Highlands    for 
hours,  exulting  in  what  De  Quincey  calls 
"  the  glory  of  motion."     Wilson  knew  what 
pleasure  was  in  other  forms,  but  he  knew 
nothing  higher  than  this  —  a  glorious  man- 
hood intoxicated  with  the  wine  of  overflow 
ing  life. 


AMUSEMENTS.  205 

When  Dr.  Wayland  was  asked  what 
pleasures  he  would  recommend,  he  said, 
"  Take  a  walk."  It  was  not  so  very  prosy 
advice,  nor  will  it  seem  so  to  any  one  who 
has  not  sunk  into  a  prosy  state  of  mind  and 
body.  Thoreau  considered  a  walk  the  height 
of  felicity.  My  point  is,  if  you  would  get 
into  close  contact  with  nature  and  culti- 
vate the  intimacies  and  sympathies  that 
look  in  that  direction,  you  would  win  an 
enjoyment  far  finer  than  that  to  be  got  from 
the  technical  amusements,  with  their  fever- 
ish accessories.  Climb  the  hills  about  you, 
—  Holyoke,  Wachusett,  Greylock,  the  Pali- 
sades. What  do  you  know  of  the  ravines 
and  water-falls  within  a  ten-mile  radius  ? 
Do  you  know  the  haunts  and  habits  of  the 
animals  that  live  in  the  forests  ?  Do  you 
know  the  trees,  the  flowers  and  their 
times  ?  Do  you  know  the  exultation  that 
comes  with  standing  on  mountain  tops,  and 
the  tender  awe  that  dwells  in  thick  wooda 
and  deep  glens,  and  the  music  of  waters  in 
these  still  heights  ?  And  do  you  know  how 
profound  and  sweet  is  sleep  after  a  day  in 
the  woods  ?  An  hour,  or  a  day,  spent  in 
the  open  air,  in  saddle,  or  better,  on  foot, 
with   cheery   company,   or  alone   with   an 


206  AMUSEMENTS. 

easy,  care-discarding  mind,  yields  recrea- 
tion that  will  be  satisfying  just  in  the  de- 
gree in  which  the  nature  is  sound. 

If  any  say,  This  is  well,  but  not  enough, 
or  it  is  not  practicable,  let  me  suggest  that 
they  find  a  hohhy.  There  is  a  provision  for 
one  in  nearly  every  man ;  seek  it  out,  aud 
gratify  it  wisely.  If  a  horse,  let  it  be  that, 
steering  wide  of  all  jockeying  and  the  vul- 
garity of  the  race-course;  if  animal  pets, 
nothing  is  more  wholesome.  And  there 
are  the  athletic  sports  and  the  broader  field 
of  art,  fine  and  mechanical,  the  turning- 
lathe,  the  garden,  music,  pictures,  books, 
science,  —  the  keen  and  unanxious  joy  of 
the  amateur  awaits  you  in  each. 

Every  young  man,  remembering  Shake- 
speare's wise  words,  "  Home-bred  youths 
have  ever  homely  wits,"  should  now  and 
then  travel.  You  say  traveling  is  expen- 
sive ;  but  reckon  what  possibly  you  may 
nave  spent  the  last  year  in  cigars,  beer, 
balls,  theatricals,  confectionery,  "  treats," 
and  gew-gaws  of  dress,  and  see  how  far  the 
Bum  would  have  taken  you,  —  to  Washing- 
ton, or  Niagara,  or  Quebec,  or  London, 
perchance. 

As  our  last  and  weightiest  word  on  the 


AMUSEMENTS.  207 

Bubject,  I  would  press  the  distinction  be- 
tween amusements  and  enjoyment.  One 
is  pleasure  manufactured  and  served  up  for 
us  ;  the  other  is  the  satisfaction  that  flows 
from  the  sportive  action  of  our  own  facul- 
ties. In  other  words,  amuse  yourself  in- 
stead of  depending  upon  others.  Learn  the 
joy  of  the  exercise  of  your  own  powers 
rather  than  offer  yourself  to  be  played  upon 
from  without  for  the  sake  of  a  new  sensa- 
tion. 

From  within  out  is  the  order  of  all  life, 
from  smallest  plant  to  man.  And  because 
it  is  the  order  of  life  it  is  also  the  order  of 
joy. 


IX. 

FAITH. 


"  Fecisti  dos  ad  Te,  et  inqtiietum  est  cor  nosO  am,  donea 
lequiescat  in  Te."  — Augustine. 

"  Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go?  Thou  hast  the  words  of  eter- 
nal life."  —  {Said  to  the  Christ.) 

"  Blest  is  the  man  whose  heart  and  hands  are  pure  I 
He  hath  no  sickness  that  he  shall  not  cure, 
No  sorrow  that  he  may  not  well  endure  : 
His  feet  are  steadfast  and  his  hope  is  sure. 

"  Oh,  blest  is  he  who  ne'er  hath  sold  his  soul. 
Whose  will  is  perfect,  and  whose  word  is  whole; 
Who  hath  not  paid  to  common-sense  the  toll 
Of  self-disgrace,  nor  owned  the  world's  control  I 

"  Through  clouds  and  shadows  of  the  darkest  night, 
He  will  not  lose  a  glimmering  of  the  light; 
Nor,  though  the  sun  of  day  be  shrouded  quite, 
Swerve  from  the  narrow  path  to  left  or  right." 

John  Addington  Symoitds. 

"H  you  travel  through  the  world  well,  you  may  find  cities 
without  walls,  without  literature,  without  kings,  mone3less 
•nd  such  as  desire  no  coin ;  which  know  not  what  theatres  or 
public  halls  of  bodily  exercise  mean;  but  never  was  there, 
nor  ever  shall  there  be,  any  one  city  seen  without  temple, 
church,  or  cliapel.  Nay,  mcthinks  a  man  should  sooner  find 
a  city  built  in  the  air,  without  any  plot  of  ground  whereon 
It  is  seated,  than  that  any  commonwealtli  altogether  void  of 
religion  should  either  be  first  established  or  afterward  pre< 
served  and  maintained  in  that  estate.  This  is  that  containctb 
and  huldelli  together  all  liuinun  society;  this  is  the  foundation, 
itay,  and  prop  of  all  "  —  rLUTARCu. 


IX. 

FAITH. 

Caelyle,  in  that  great  address  of  his  to 
the  students  of  Edinburgh,  says  ;  "  No  na- 
tion that  did  not  contemplate  this  wonderful 
universe  with  an  awe-stricken  and  reveren- 
tial feeling  that  there  was  a  great  unknown, 
omnipotent,  and  all-wise,  and  all-virtuous 
Being,  superintendhig  all  men  in  it,  and  all 
interests  in  it  —  no  nation  ever  came  to  very 
much,  nor  did  any  man  either,  who  forgot 
that.  If  a  man  did  forget  that,  he  forgot 
the  most  important  part  of  his  mission  in 
this  world." 

I  do  not  propose  in  this  chapter  to  do 
more  than  follow  out  the  thought  of  this 
vigorous  utterance. 

It  will  indeed  never  do  to  forget  "  the  all- 
wise,  all-virtuous  Being  "  who  superintends 
human  society,  nor  the  fact  that  we  have 
our  origin  and  therefore  our  destiny  in  Him. 
Whether  evolution  be  true  or  false,  or  partly 


212  FAITH. 

both,  men  must  never  doubt  that  they  are 
made  in  the  image  of  God.  Hence  the  Bible 
opens  with  the  creation  of  the  world  and  of 
man  —  the  starting-point  of  philosophy  and 
religion,  as  well  as  of  the  physical  world. 
Whether  those  first  pages  be  regarded  as 
typical,  or  figurative,  or  traditional,  or  myth- 
ical, they  are  the  profoundost  and  truest 
words  that  we  know.  No  great  thinker 
treats  them  slightly  ;  no  man  can  afford  to 
forget  their  personal  lesson.  They  gave 
the  greatest  English  poet  —  after  one  —  his 
theme.  Milton  was  no  Puritan  fanatic  turn- 
ing the  crude  and  harsh  theology  of  his  day 
into  majestic  verse,  but  a  seer  whose  o^ien 
eyes  rested  habituall}'  upon  the  summits  of 
truth.  Setting  himself  to  the  deliberate 
task  of  composing  a  masterpiece  of  poetry, 
be  selected  as  the  greatest  possible  theme, 
the  creation  of  man.  Dante  wrote  of  des- 
tin}^  iSIilton  of  origin,  and  so  comprehended 
both.  Michael  Angelo  attempted  upon  can- 
vas the  same  theme.  On  the  walls  of  the 
Sistine  Chapel  he  strove  to  tell  how  man 
became  a  living  soul.  The  created  Adam 
lies  upon  a  sloping  bank  in  the  midst  of  a 
dull  and  desert  solitude  —  nerveless,  lax,  an 
animal  only,  waiting  for  his  completion  into 


FAITH.  213 

man.  Above  liim  in  the  air  is  the  majestic 
figure  of  the  Deity  whose  outstretched  hand 
touches  with  one  finger  the  upreaching  hand 
of  Adam,  and  through  the  touch,  the  electric 
spark  of  spiritual  life  is  conveyed,  and  Adam 
becomes  a  living  soul. 

The  topmost  minds  of  the  world  do  not 
repeat  this  history  in  poetry  and  painting 
without  reason.  It  is  the  world's  strongest 
assertion  of  the  essential  oneness  of  man 
with  God,  —  asserted  by  genius  because  gen- 
ius asserts  the  highest  truths.  Young  men 
always  revere  genius ;  each  wears  something 
of  the  glory  of  the  other.  Hence  tbey 
should  keep  in  mind  that  it  never  speaks 
with  such  unanimity  and  emphasis  as  when 
it  declares  the  divine  origin  of  man.  I  find 
in  a  recent  novel,  a  very  clear  and  strong 
statement  of  the  incompleteness  of  man 
apart  from  God.  A  professor  of  mathe- 
matics upon  his  dying  bed  is  speaking  to  a 
pupil  of  great  force  and  talent,  who  is  dis- 
posed to  push  his  way  in  the  world  without 
any  recognition  of  God.  The  dying  mathe- 
matician says :  "  No  man  is  competent  to 
calculate  accurately  until  he  has  as  perfect 
a  conception  of  two-ness  as  he  has  of  one- 
tiess.    You  cannot  estimate  things  correctly 


214  FAITH. 

unless  you  take  into  your  calculation  another 
as  well  as  yourself.  You  are  but  one  in- 
teger. Handling,  however  perfectly,  one 
factor,  your  calculations  are  extremely  lim- 
ited. The  other  factor  is  God.  Stay,  I  err, 
you  are  not  a  unit !  You  are,  I  am,  but  zero! 
that  is,  apart  from  God.  Admitting  him, 
all  other  factors  follow,  not  otherwise. 
Remember  what  I  tell  you,  this  is  the  sura 
of  all ;  separate  quality  from  quantity,  and 
your  result  is  wrong ;  omit  eternity  in  your 
estimate  as  to  area,  and  your  conclusion  is 
wrong ;  fasten  your  attention  exclusively 
upon  yourself  and  leave  out  God,  and  your 
equation  is  wrong,  false,  and  utterly  wrong." 
I  do  not  think  it  is  too  much  to  expect 
tliat  young  men  will  apprehend  these  rea- 
sons for  a  positive  recognition  of  God.  If 
the  reasons  are  profound,  they  are  also 
Belf-asserting.  When  presented,  you  say, 
I  know  them  already. 

"So  close  is  Rlory  to  our  dust, 
So  npiir  is  God  to  man ; 
When  duty  whispers  low,  Thou  must^ 
The  youth  replies,  I  can." 

This  inner  voice,  declaring  for  God  and 
iluty,  is  often  hushed,  often  unheeded,  and 
\o  at  last  comes   to  be  seldom    heard  —  a 


FAITH.  215 

Bad  and  strange  thing  to  happen.  I  ara 
aware  that  young  men  have  a  habit  of 
treating  matters  of  faith  in  a  sh'ghting  way, 
as  not  quite  lying  in  the  line  of  manliness. 
I  will  not  say  that  you  have  not  some  rea- 
son for  thinking  so.  As  sometimes  pre- 
sented, it  is  anything  but  attractive  to  a 
clear-headed,  brave  man,  —  now  as  a  mere 
matter  of  future  safety,  bare  of  a  single 
noble  feature ;  now  as  a  thin  and  pretty 
sentiment,  void  of  all  robust  thought  and 
practical  duty;  now  a  mesh  of  doctrinal 
subtil  ties,  or  a  tissue  of  traditions  and  dosr- 
mas.  But  these  phases  of  the  great  subject 
are  rapidly  passing  away.  Whether  past 
or  not,  we  have  only  to  do  with  the  eternal 
truth  they  obscure.  I  invite  you  into  the 
company  of  the  greatest  and  best,  who 
never  reject  or  slight  this  fact  called  Chris- 
tianity ;  or  if  any  do  so  it  is  because  of  the 
pressure  of  some  special  adverse  influence, 
AS  in  the  case  of  Huxley  and  Clifford  and 
Spencer  —  men  overweighted  with  the  sci- 
entific habit,  "  dazzled,"  as  Plato  said,  "  by 
ti  too  near  look  at  material  things,"  or  it  is 
due  to  an  ill-balanced  nature,  as  in  Hume, 
who  was  too  cold  to  feel  an  emotion.  It  ia 
always  safe  to  trust  the  poets;   not  much 


L'16  FAITH. 

moral  truth  has  got  into  the  world  except 
through  them,  and  never  have  they  put  the 
indorsement  of  their  inspiration  upon  any- 
great  error.  They  stand  on  the  highest 
summits  of  life,  and  thei'efore  see  farthest; 
they  live  closest  to  nature,  and  therefore 
understand  her  most  thoroughly  ;  they  are 
the  fullest  endowed  with  gifts,  and  there- 
fore best  understand  man  and  his  needs. 
They  speak  with  one  voice  in  this  matter. 
Lucretius  in  antiquity,  —  a  naturalist  rather 
than  a  poet,  —  and  Shelley  in  modern  times, 
a  man  preternaturally  sensitive  to  falseness 
and  so  repelled  by  the  hypocrisy  of  his  age ; 
—  these  are  nearly  the  only  unbelievers 
amongst  tlie  poets.  Put  by  the  side  of  Lu- 
cretius, Wordsworth,  who  seems  to  have 
written  no  line  except  in  that  Presence 

"  Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
Aud  tlie  round  ocean  and  the  living  air 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man ;  " 

or  by  the  side  of  Shelley,  the  not  only  finer 
but  more  robust  Tennyson,  who  prefaces 
the  greatest  of  modern  poems  with  prayer 
to  the  — 

"  Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love." 

It  is  a  fact  of  immense  significance  that  the 
poets  thus  bow  with  reverence  before  the 


FAITH.  217 

Christian  faith ;  for  the  poet  is  a  seer ;  it 
is  his  gift  and  function  to  declare  the  reality 
of  thhigs.  Now  Christianity,  in  its  broad- 
est definition,  is  simply  the  reality  of  things. 
It  is  a  setting  forth  of  the  true  order  of  hu- 
manity. When  a  man  grasps  this  secret, 
he  must  accept  Christianity.  He  does  vio- 
lence to  himself  if  he  refuses. 

I  have  all  along  in  these  pages  had  in 
mind  those  who  have  begun  to  think.  I 
ask  you  to  think  here  —  not  alone,  nor  yet. 
with  any  sect  —  but  with  the  great  souls. 
If  they  are  mistaken,  if  they  see  amiss,  thf* 
whole  world  is  blind. 

But  if,  intellectually,  we  are  forced  to 
accept  the  Christian  idea,  we  must  carry  it 
into  the  conscience  where  we  encounter 
that  word  which  Carlyle  declares  to  be  the 
mightiest  of  all  words  —  ought,  and  by 
which  convictions  are  transmuted  into  du- 
ties. You  cannot  build  a  wall  about  your 
logical  and  critical  faculties  and  say,  "  Here 
will  I  entertain  my  faith."  There  can  be 
no  wall,  nor  line  even,  between  the  intellect 
and  the  moral  nature.  When  universal 
truths  like  those  of  Christianity  come  to 
man  they  spread  throughout  his  whole  be- 
ing.    Intellectual  conviction   means   moral 


218  FAITH. 

assent.  The  conviction  sweeps  like  a  wind 
into  every  recess  of  Lis  nature  and  sets  to 
vibrating  tliose  chords  that  dechire  the  ought 
of  duty.  And  so  we  are  borne  on  to  the 
hiirher  sentiments  of  love  and  adoration  and 
BIDiritual  sympathy.  If  there  is  a  God,  I 
must  love  him.  I  must  pour  out  my  soul 
upon  him.  I  must  worship  at  his  feet.  I 
must  be  at  one  with  him.  The  logic  of  our 
nature,  with  tender  but  relentless  force, 
drives  us  to  this  final  issue. 

"  When  dutj'  whispers  low,  Thou  must, 
The  youth  replies,  I  can." 

(1.)  My  first  practical  suggestion  in  re- 
gard to  faith  is  that  you  treat  it  earnestly 
and  never  otherwise.  If  you  have  wit  to 
scatter  broadly,  withhold  it  from  this  theme. 
No  sound  nature  ever  makes  a  mock  of  it. 
Your  true-hearted,  fine-grained  man  puts 
off  his  shoes  at  the  door  of  a  mosque  as 
devoutly  as  any  IMoslem ;  he  treads  the 
aisles  of  a  cathedral  as  softly  as  any  Ro- 
manist ;  he  despises  no  incense ;  he  sneers 
at  no  idol.  He  may  deny,  but  he  will  not 
jest.  The  sneer  is  crucial ;  bring  one  who 
indulges  in  it  to  the  test  and  you  will  find 
liini  crude  in  thought  and  coarse  in  feeling. 
I  know  how  common  it  is  and  how  much 


FAITH.  219 

there  is  to  provoke  it  in  the  humanly-weak 
forms  of  worship  and  eccentricities  of  belief ; 
Btill,  the  most  deluded  Seventh-day  Bap- 
tist, or  Sandemanian  literalist,  ranks  higher 
than  one  who  scoffs  at  them.  I  like  to  hear 
one  pronounce  the  name  of  God  with  a  sub- 
dued awe,  and  to  see  the  cast  of  thought 
overspread  the  features  when  eternal  things 
are  named.  I  like  to  see  a  delicate  and 
quiet  handling  of  sacred  truths  —  as  you 
speak  the  name  of  your  mother  in  heaven. 
I  might  say  that  this  is  the  way  a  gentle- 
man bears  himself  tc.vards  religion,  but  I 
would  rather  have  you  feel  that  it  is  the 
treatment  due  to  the  majesty  of  the  subject. 
(2.)  If  you  happen  to  be  skeptical,  do 
not  formulate  your  doubts,  nor  regard  them 
as  convictions.  Doubt  is  almost  a  natural 
phase  of  life ;  but  as  certainly  as  it  is  nat- 
ural is  it  also  temporary,  unless  it  is  un- 
wisely wrought  into  conduct.  The  chief 
danger  is  lest  one,  blinded  and  confused,  by 
the  "  excess  of  light "  with  which  life  dawns, 
may  come  to  think  that  one  is  not  amena- 
ble to  the  laws  of  morality  ;  that,  having 
uo  chart  or  compass,  he  may  drift  with  the 
tides.  This  is  not  good  moral  seamanship 
When   storms   have   swept   away   compass 


220  FAITH. 

and  quadrant  and  chart,  the  sailor  still 
Bteers  the  ship  and  watches  for  some  open- 
ing in  the  clouds  that  may  reveal  a  guidijig 
star ;  he  scans  the  waters  for  sight  of  some 
fellow  voyager,  and  at  night  listens  for  tho 
possible  roar  of  breakers,  and  so,  by  re- 
doubling his  seamanship  at  all  points,  finds 
at  length  his  course.  When  one  finds  him- 
self in  this  skeptical  mood,  he  should  govern 
himself  in  the  strictest  manner,  using  what- 
ever of  truth  and  moral  sense  he  baa 
left  with  utmost  fidelity,  doing  the  one 
thing  that  he  still  knows  to  be  right.  One 
may  doubt,  and  the  whole  apparatus  of  his 
moral  nature  remain  sound  ;  if  one  works 
that  aright,  one  cannot  long  remain  astray. 
There  is  wonderful  light-generating  power 
in  good  conduct.  "  I  am  skeptical ;  there- 
fore I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Bible  or 
church  or  sermon  ;  I  am  skeptical,  therefore 
I  am  not  bound  to  the  moral  courses  taught 
by  religion ;  I  am  skeptical,  therefore,  hav- 
ing no  faith  or  law,  I  will  be  a  law  unto 
myself;  "  —  this  is  both  poor  thinking  and 
bad  morality.  Skepticism  by  its  nature  as 
Bimply  doubt.,  as  not  even  negation,  requires 
that  it  should  not  be  made  a  rule  or  reason 
for  conduct.     It  may  possibly  be  rational  to 


FAITH.  221 

act  from  a  negation,  but  not  from  a  doubt. 
It  is  -worse  than  building  upon  the  sand ;  it 
is  building  on  chaos. 

It  is  well  to  remember,  as  Plutarch  tells 
us  on  the  prefatory  page  of  the  chapter, 
that  nothing  so  universally  engages  tlie  at- 
tention of  men  as  religion  ;  hence,  nothing 
will  bear  so  long  study.  Its  final  verdicts 
aie  reached  only  tlyough  experience,  A 
young  man  pronounced  in  unbelief  is  pre- 
mature ;  he  has  decided  that  Jupiter  has  no 
moons  without  waiting  to  look  through  a 
telescope.  The  experience  of  life  nearly 
always  works  towards  the  confirmation  of 
faith.  It  is  the  total  significance  of  life 
that  it  reveals  God  to  man ;  and  life  only 
can  do  this ;  —  neither  thought,  nor  dem- 
onstration, nor  miracle,  but  life  only,  weav- 
ing its  threads  of  daily  toil  and  trial  and 
joy  into  a  pattern  on  which  at  last  is  in- 
scribed the  name,  God.  It  is  a  fact  of  im- 
mense significance  that  Emerson,  who  in 
early  years  looked  askance  at  this  name, 
suffers  himself,  in  his  old  age,  to  be  called 
a  Christian  theist.  I  ask  young  men  to 
wait  and  hear  what  life  has  to  say  before 
they  formulate  their  doubts.  The  years 
bave  a  message  for  you  that  you  must  not 
fail  to  hear. 


222  FAITH. 

(3.)  Be  intelligent  in  regard  to  Chris- 
tianity. 

An  eminent  American  statesman,  though 
an  unbeliever,  daily  read  the  Bible,  on  the 
ground  that  every  citizen  should  be  familiar 
with  the  religion  of  his  country.  Had  ho 
gone  a  step  farther  and  read  it  because  it 
contained  the  religion  of  the  civilized  world, 
he  would  have  read  from  a  higher  consider- 
ation, and  perhaps  to  better  purpose.  For 
this  faith  marches  at  the  head  of  the  army 
of  progress.  It  is  found  beside  the  most 
refined  life,  the  freest  government,  the  pro- 
founclest  philosophy,  the  noblest  poetry,  the 
purest  humanity.  I  think  we  are  all  of  us 
bound  to  have  a  clear  conception  of  this 
fact  that  thus  possesses  and  dominates  hu- 
man society.  I  do  not  thiulc  it  too  much  to 
expect  of  young  men  that  they  shall  know 
its  external  history,  and  from  that  go  on  and 
raise  the  question.  What  is  the  secret  of  the 
power  of  Christianity?  Why  does  it  lay 
strongest  hold  of  the  best  races?  Why 
does  it  pave  the  way  to  freedom  and  social 
elevation?  Why  does  it  make  a  man  bet- 
ter? Why  does  it  have  the  peculiar  effect 
of  ennobling  and  dignifying  character? 
What    is    the  subtle    power    by   which    it 


FAITH.  223 

breathes  peace  upon  troubled  hearts  ?  Why 
does  it  make  the  path  of  daily  dut}"-  an  easy 
one  to  tread  ?  What  is  it  that  makes  the 
epithet  Christian  mean  the  best  of  its  kind, 
■whether  apphed  to  a  civilization,  to  a  com- 
munity, to  individual  conduct,  or  to  an  in 
ward  temper?  Not  long  ago  a  ship  waa 
wrecked  upon  the  reefs  of  an  island  in  the 
Pacific.  The  sailors,  escaping  to  land, 
feared  lest  they  might  fall  into  the  hands  of 
savages.  One  climbed  a  bluff  to  reconnoi- 
tre ; —  turning  to  his  mates,  he  shouted, 
"Come  on,  here  's  a  church ;  " —  a  simple 
Btory,  but  involving  a  profound  question, 
Why  was  it  safer  for  shipwrecked  men  to 
go  where  a  church  upreared  its  cross  than 
■where  there  was  none  ? 

(4.)  I  go  a  step  farther  when,  for  the 
same  reasons,  I  urge  upon  you  a  study  of 
the  character  of  Jesus  Christ. 

It  is  almost  a  modern  thing,  this  analy- 
sis and  measurement  of  that  divine  Person. 
(n  former  days,  when  religious  thought 
took  cliiefly  theological  forms,  the  Christ 
was  but  a  factor  of  a  system  ;  but  since  we 
have  begun  to  think  from  more  practical 
stand-points,  the  question  has  arisen,  Wliat 
«ort  of  a  man  was  Christ?     Dr.  Bushuell, 


224  FAITH. 

in  the  famous  tenth  chapter  of  his  book, 
"  Nature  and  the  Supernatural,"  first  made 
the  question  a  general  one  in  this  country. 
In  England,  it  had  found  place  in  the  writ- 
ings of  Coleridge,  Dr.  Arnold,  Maurice, 
Robertson,  and  others  of  their  school  of 
thought.  It  became  popular  through  "  Ecee 
Homo,"  and  is  to-day  the  favorite  theme 
of  religious  speculation,  as  shown  in  Phil- 
lips Brooks's  "  Influence  of  Jesus,"  and  in 
Thomas  Hughes's  "Manliness  of  Christ." 
Led  by  such  teachers  as  these,  you  find 
that  you  have  before  you  a  character  more 
curiously  interesting,  more  wonderful  than 
any  other  that  history  can  show.  You  find 
that  you  cannot  classify  him,  —  elusive  and 
passing  out  of  sight  on  some  sides  of  his 
character,  yet  most  near  and  tangible  on 
other  sides,  —  a  Jew,  yet  not  Jewish,  —  of 
the  first  century  and  equally  of  all  centu- 
ries,—an  idealist,  but  not  transcending 
possibility  ;  a  reformer,  but  not  a  destroyer ; 
making  for  the  first  time  what  is  highest  in 
character,  the  most  effective  in  action, — a 
true  full  member  of  the  common  humanity, 
but  transcending  it  till  he  is  one  with  God, 
a  being  at  the  same  time  so  weak  that  he 
can  die,  and  so  strong  that  he  is  superior  ta 


FAITD.  225 

death,  a  person  at  once  so  near  and  human 
that  we  call  him  our  brother,  and  so  high 
and  mysterious  that  we  bow  at  his  feet  as 
our  Lord  and  Master. 

Now,  no  thoughtful  person  can  get  be- 
yond the  first  superficial  look  at  this  Jesus, 
without  ever  after  holding  him  in  highest 
veneration.  Nor  can  one  study  this  char- 
acter long  without  perceiving  that  it  con- 
tains the  true  order  of  humanity,  and  "  points 
the  way  we  are  going  "  to  the  end  of  time. 
Nor  can  we  long  contemplate  the  Christ 
without  feeling  his  personality  pressing  upon 
ours  with  transforming  power. 

(5.)  Allow  full  play  to  the  sense  of  ac- 
countability. 

When  Daniel  Webster  was  Secretary  of 
State  under  President  Fillmore,  he  was  in- 
cited to  a  dinner  at  the  Astor  House  with 
about  twenty  gentlemen.  He  seemed  weary 
with  his  journey,  and,  speaking  but  little, 
if  at  all,  sank  into  a  sort  of  reverie,  out  of 
keeping  with  the  occasion.  All  other  at- 
tempts at  conversation  failing,  a  gentleman 
out  to  him  this  strange  question :  "  Mr. 
Webster,  will  you  tell  me  what  was  the 
most  important  thought  that  ever  occupied 
vour  mind  ?  "    Mr.   Webster  slowly  passed 

16 


226  FAITH, 

his  hand  over  his  forehead,  and  in  a  low 
tone  said  to  one  near  hiin,  "  Is  there  any 
one  liere  who  does  not  know  me  ?  "  "  No  ; 
all  are  your  friends."  "The  most  important 
thought  that  ever  occupied  my  mind,"  said 
Mr.  Webster,  "  was  that  of  my  individuiil 
responsibility  to  God !  "  upon  which  ho 
spoke  to  them  for  twenty  minutes,  when  he 
1  ose  from  the  table  and  retired  to  his  room.^ 

It  is  the  most  important  thought,  because 
it  pertains  to  our  highest  relation.  It  ushers 
in  that  sum  of  all  duties, — fidelity.  It  is 
the  only  thought  that  can  move  our  whole 
nature  and  move  it  aright.  Pleasure  and 
ambition  and  self-respect  touch  us  on  this 
side  and  on  that,  but  they  do  not  invest  us 
with  an  all-embracing  purpose,  as  does  this 
sense  of  "individual  responsibility  to  God." 
There  are  noble  motives  and  passions  that 
bear  us  to  noble  conclusions  in  conduct  and 
diaracter,  but  only  this  lifts  us  to  the  height 
of  our  being.  "  God  made  us  for  Himself," 
eiiys  Augustine,  "and  we  have  no  rest  till 
we  find  rest  in  Him." 

(G.)  Have  for  yourself  definite  religious 
duties  and  relations. 

I  think  you  all  understand  very  well  that 

1  Mr.  Harvey's  Reminucences,  page  403. 


FAITH.  227 

the  covnmon  talk  about  respecting  religion 
is  of  very  little  moment,  apart  from  conduct. 
Whatever  other  mistake  you  make  in  re- 
spect to  religion,  don't  patronize  it.  Thia 
is  a  very  matter-of-fact  world,  and  religion 
is  the  most  matter-of-fact  thing  in  it.  The 
hard  common  sense  of  the  matter  is  that  a 
practical  relation  to  faith  is  the  only  real 
and  vital  relation  to  it.  I  am  at  the  far- 
thest from  hinting  under  what  name  you 
should  worship ;  I  only  say  that  reason  i-e- 
quires  that  you  kneel  at  some  altar,  and 
that  you  confess  in  some  real  way  your  be- 
lief "  in  the  communion  of  saints."  To  get 
the  good  of  other  relations,  you  fulfill  them. 
To  learn  good  manners,  you  mingle  in 
society.  To  secure  a  fair  name,  you  tell 
the  truth  and  maintain  your  honor.  If  you 
oelong  to  a  club,  or  lodge,  or  board  of  direct- 
ors, you  meet  its  appointments.  Do  not 
regard  the  external  forms  of  faith  with  less 
intelligent  logic. 

I  have  no  fear  that  you  will  think  I  sum- 
mon you  to  other  than  the  most  manly  view 
of  life  when  I  urge  the  religious  view  of  it. 

We  have  linked  our  themes  at  many 
points  with  the  testimony  of  the  great  minds 
whose  inspiration  it  is  the  glory  of  your 


228  FAITH. 

youth  that  3'ou  feel  and  respond  to.  They 
speak  as  emphatically  here  as  elsewhere. 

When  Walter  Scott  was  approaching  his 
end,  he  said  to  Lockhart,  "  I  may  have  but 
a  minute  to  speak  to  you.  My  dear,  be  a 
g;ood  man,  —  be  virtuous,  —  be  religious,  — 
be  a  good  man.  Nothing  else  will  give  you 
any  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie  here ; " 
—  a  pensive  testimony,  but  how  tender  and 
honest ! 

All  critical  thought  agrees  that  in  Hamlet 
we  have  not  only  the  profoundest  but  the 
most  personal  thought  of  Shakespeare.  It 
is  hard  to  resist  the  feeling  that  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines  he  struck  deeper  than  the  artist, 
and  revealed  a  personal  conviction  and  ex- 
perience. At  least,  he  knew  what  a  man 
will  do  who  has  sounded  life,  and  caught 
sight  of  his  work. 

"And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
I  hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands,  and  part; 
You,  as  your  business  and  desire  shall  point  you  — 
For  every  man  has  business  and  desire. 
Such  as  it  is,  — and  for  mine  own  poor  part. 
Look  you,  1  'U  go  pray." 


i^Z^^ 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 

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